


Hybrid Theory

by Winifred_Zachery



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M, Murder, Plot, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:18:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winifred_Zachery/pseuds/Winifred_Zachery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pregnant woman is murdered and her unborn child disappears without a trace, only to resurface at Rosalee's shop, sold to the young Fuchsbau by a Skalengeck.</p><p>At first glance, Detective Nick Burkhardt can't see anything unusual about the little Coyotl girl, but his friends soon explain why Hundjäger are suddenly eager to get their hands on the baby. She's a Hybrid. Not fully Wesen, but not human either, hybrids have been hunted down and sold as potions ingredients for centuries. They are vulnerable, because hybrids only come into their full powers once they find their mate. </p><p>What Nick doesn't know yet is why Captain Sean Renard seems to go to great lengths to keep the baby safe. But he is about to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Heat is Off

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in quite a while and my first one for Grimm. Just thought there should be more Nick/Renard out there and suddenly there's this huge storyline in my head that just keeps on growing.
> 
> This one is for yivel. It's all her fault, anyway ;)  
> Beta credits also go to yivel. Any mistakes past this point are my own.
> 
> The story is set at about mid-first season and gets fanon from there.

The death of Grimm Marie Kessler set things in motion he'd never imagined. The rise of another Grimm, a new Grimm so different than what the Wesen world was used to.  
And the power-hungry Hexenbiester whispering in his ear, of power, of control, of anerkennung, had caught him unawares. They had awakened a new desire in him. To be more than a royal Zauberbiest bastard. To be more than the sum of his parts.

And yet not the one thing they expected him to be.

***

It is a widely known fact in the Wesen world that the royal families are eager for power. Their members have long tried to restore the glory of ages past when human and Wesen alike bowed to them and feared them. They fight alongside each other just as much as they fight against each other when one of the families manages to gain a new place of power and upsets the balance.  
All continents are secretly ruled by the royal families; at least that is what they would have everybody believe. 

Many Wesen do. They flock towards the royals more than they have ever done before. They want peace, to be kept safe from violent Grimms out for their blood, forgetting it had been the families who had first unleashed the human terror upon them. All continents fall under the jurisdiction of at least one ancient clan. All except for one.

All the new world got was a bastard prince looking for his own niche in the world.

That was what Adalind realized with one look at the police captain currently occupying the chair across from her. And she knew exactly what she had to gain by supporting his rise to power.

"So, about the coins," she began, but the look the mention of the artifacts earned her made her close her mouth.

"Useless," Captain Sean Renard shook his head. "And they are gone anyway. The Grimm took care of them."

The Grimm. Adalind knew all about that one, thorn in her side that he was. Always getting in between her and her business. “Wouldn’t be hard to get them back from him," she smiled, but again received nothing but a hard stare for her offer. Oh, how she longed to stick her claws in that annoying nuisance of a Grimm. But then, Renard had a use for him. In fact, Nick Burkhardt was quite crucial to his plans, she believed. And she could see what he was needed for. Leashing a Grimm, something none of the royal families had managed in centuries, had already earned Renard the attention of his father, who still sat on an old-fashioned throne in the old world. A throne her master might inherit.

"Very well," she sighed and brushed a lock of blond hair from her face, making sure to trail a finger down her neck in a subtly suggestive manner.

Renard's eyes stayed glued to hers, not that she had expected anything else. Her advances on him had never worked before, not even as a distraction. Because the Royal was waiting for somebody else. Who that was, Adalind wasn't sure, but she was well aware of why.

He was a Zauberbiest, just like her, only his blood was thin, watered down and made weak by human DNA, even if it was royal. He was a hybrid, one of few in the known history of their Hexenbiest ancestors.

Not much was known about hybrids and their abilities. They had the potential to become powerful beings, strong leaders, more so than the average Hexenbiest, given the right circumstances. If he could find his mate. 

Lucky bitch that got the prince, Adalind thought, considering the body hiding behind the crisp white dress shirt and burgundy tie. How unfortunate it wasn't her. They had tried that a long time ago. But then again, she valued her freedom too much to become a mindless well of power for her master.

Not many sources were known that provided insights regarding what happened to the bonded mate of a Hexenbiest hybrid, but Adalind was sure it couldn't be a pleasant experience, considering the hybrid would constantly be drawing on the poor Wesen's energy to reach their full potential.

What the mate got out of it in return, besides a good fucking from Sean Renard, she frankly didn't much care about.

When she looked up again from the perusal of her master's body, their eyes met once more, Renard’s gaze clearly stating that he was bored by her suggestions and this meeting close to over.

"Anything else to report?" he asked, not really expecting Adalind to add what she did, judging from his reaction. She smiled at how the coffee cup paused briefly on its way to his mouth. 

"Since we are talking about the Grimm: he seems to have all but moved in with that Blutbad friend of his." 

The coffee cup landed back on its saucer with a noisy clatter, never having finished its journey, and Renard rose from his chair. "Keep an eye on them."

Not the reaction she had hoped for. For the Grimm to befriend members of the Wesen community was a good thing for their cause. It would show them just how much influence the prince had over this ruthless Wesen killer.

And yet, Sean Renard did not look pleased. Puzzled, Adalind watched him don his coat and leave without so much as a backwards glance.

Not the reaction she had expected at all.

***

Nick’s grin made Monroe roll his eyes as soon as he opened the door. It made him want to shut it right in Nick's face again. He'd long ago stopped wondering why the guy even bothered to ring the door bell. Or why he still answered it, for that matter. He'd given the Grimm a spare key after all.

"Do you derive some kind of sadistic pleasure from getting me away from my work table?" he asked, his tone full of false annoyance. It had been time for a break anyway. And Nick apparently had his arms too full of boxes to get out his keys. 

He dropped the frown when Nick lowered the boxes to show him a brown paper bag on top. "These suffice as an apology?" Nick asked, motioning for him to take the bag, which emanated the delicious smell of powdered sugar. "Take those first. I don't want them to slide off."

Monroe took hold of the crinkled paper and stepped back to let Nick enter before opening the brown bag. "You sure know how to make a guy happy,” he murmured upon seeing the organic, yeast-free raspberry donuts Nick must have gone out of his way to get.

"Just say it," came Nick’s strained voice from the living room. "I'll make somebody a good wife one day."

Monroe put the bag down on the kitchen table and went over to help Nick with his load. "More stuff from Juliette's?" He asked as he grabbed the topmost box, which was beginning to slide off during Nick’s attempt to set everything down on the couch.

"Nah, that's from the trailer," Nick huffed out, finally finding a spot for the boxes on top of a sofa cushion.

Monroe snorted out a laugh. "Really? Branching out already?"

Straightening up, Nick turned towards him, his grin fading into a guilty scowl. "I should have asked first."

Monroe just waved it away. He didn't care what Nick kept in his room upstairs or cluttered the basement with. His thoughts already on the sweets in the paper bag, he made his way out of the living room, Nick following behind.

"I mean, that was one thing Juliette was constantly complaining about. That I should ask and not just buy another rake and garden hose and stuff like that." Now clearly babbling, he added, "and it's getting a little cold in the trailer with the space heater broken."

"Why don't you finally just buy a new trailer," the Blutbad asked, taking the french press and coffee tin from a cupboard. "One with a working space heater and better security system." The way Nick was entirely unprotected in that little tin can had never sat right with Monroe. 

Nick was busying himself with getting coffee cups and putting the donuts on a plate. "I'd rather not," he mumbled, licking strawberry frosting from his fingers. "Too much risk of it getting stolen," he explained. 

Monroe poured hot water over the freshly ground coffee and turned to put the french press on the table. "Then make it look old." He wrinkled his nose, sniffing. "You bought a chocolate one again?"

Grinning, Nick shrugged and pulled a out another small chocolate-smeared paper bag. "Sorry, couldn't resist," he answered, entirely unapologetically.

Sighing, Monroe sat down on his accustomed chair by the sink. "At least this time you got it wrapped," he grumbled. Chocolate donuts were Nick's favorite, but unfortunately quite poisonous for the Blutbad. Nick had learned that the hard way the last time he'd put them too close to Monroe’s strawberry donut, which had nearly had him vomiting all over the couch. The Grimm had played nursemaid for his sick friend for nearly half the following night.

Intrigue instead of remorse had colored the tone of his apologies. Apparently the chocolate allergy he'd discovered all Blutbaden had was never mentioned anywhere in his extensive book records. And of course he'd gleefully recorded the fact himself, a treasure none of his ancestors had apparently been able to discover.

Monroe didn't know if he should feel guilty for having revealed this weakness to him, not that he would have been able to hide the retching sounds, but at least it was Nick who'd found out. The man meant him no harm, nor any other creature who knew when and how to stop their carnal desires.

And Nick had learned to keep the chocolate away from his strawberry donuts.

Reaching across the table he plucked one of the pastries off the plate and bit into it with relish. The strawberry jam soon covering his lips never failed to amuse Nick. "Finally makes you look like nature intended you to," he'd once joked.

Monroe just licked at the sticky mess, trying to save his beard. "And you really want to give up the trailer?" He finally asked. 

Nick answered him with a mournful look. "I really don't want to give it up. It's Aunt Marie's. But I'm worried about the books because of the humidity.”

Monroe just raised an eyebrow at him. Nick had no qualms about eating fries with ketchup right next to the centuries old books but was worried abut a little humidity?

The Grimm knew what he was getting at without having to ask. “Hey, it was only one little stain and I wiped most of it off anyway,” he defended himself without too much remorse. “Anyway, the paper is starting to curl. I could have the heater repaired, but can you even imagine the looks I'd get from anyone, human or Wesen, should I bring them to the trailer for that?"

The mental image earned him an amused snort. "Then store your stuff here for now, at least the most suspicious things. Bet the cold isn't good for all the nice concoctions and glass jars full of gunk." The Blutbad shuddered at the thought of all the kinds of poisons, venoms, and who knew what else Nick kept in that thing. "But I might know somebody to help with repairs."

Nick had his mouth full of donut and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Not Bud again, is it?" He asked as soon as he'd swallowed. 

"No, but close. He told me that some of his extended family decided to move to the area and his cousin's an expert in all things heating. You'd still want to clean out the trailer first, though, or you'll loose your reputation as Portland's friendly neighborhood Grimm."

That got him an eye roll and a finger to the face before Nick got up to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. "I could ask him. Didn't his sister-in-law move here last month?”

"She did," Monroe nodded, swallowing the last crumb of donut. "And don't you dare use the dish rag for your hands again! There's a reason I put those fuzzy towels right next to the sink, you know."

Nick's damp hand stopped right above the dish rag. "Yes, mother," he groused good-naturedly and continued on to reach for the fluffy towel Monroe had indicated. ”Last week a family of Klaustreichs moved in across the street from Juliette's. Her neighbor, Mrs. Milliner, said they'd come all the way from Boston. Should I be worried about the growing Wesen community in Portland?"

"Are you asking me that as a Grimm or as a cop?"

"Both of course," Nick replied. Monroe knew he had long ago given up on keeping both his professions separate. It was a lost cause, anyway, as they kept bleeding into each other constantly. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. Nick's ethics and morals as a cop had a great influence on how he dealt with the Wesen community, as he himself had found out on day one of their acquaintance.

"I don't think you need to worry right now. There hasn't been an increase in Wesen-related cases, has there?"

"Not that I noticed. The newcomers must belong to more peaceful Wesen categories," Nick mused. And for that Monroe was glad, even though he knew things would probably not stay that way. Nick certainly could use a breather now and then, and so could he. There were clocks to repair. 

Ever since his warning from the reapers, Monroe had been involved with Nick's cases in one way or another, in on the action from beginning to end, helping out where he could and where Nick's partner could not, supplying him with information on Wesen and history or just playing sounding board when all Nick needed was a sympathetic ear.

His own work had suffered, though, as had his daily regimen. It wasn't that he desperately needed the clock money, but he could barely see the surface of his work table thanks to all the clocks and watches stacked on it. Not that he had ever regretted giving the young Grimm the benefit of the doubt at the very beginning of their friendship.

“Well, that gives us more time to sort out that trailer of yours!”

“And isn’t that gonna be fun,” Nick sighed, but immediately burst out laughing upon viewing Monroe’s ecstatic face.

“Yes. This is the chance I’ve been waiting for,” Monroe laughed. “You know I want to have another go at that battle axe. But maybe we should take care of the more volatile stuff first.”

Placing the towel back by the sink, Nick wandered over to where he’d put the crates and started rummaging through the topmost box. “You think maybe Rosalee would be able to take some of this stuff off my hands temporarily?”

“Well, you could ask her. I know she has some kind of steel cupboard in the back for the more dangerous substances.”

“Dangerous substances? Anything I need to know about?” Nick asked without even looking up.

Monroe watched Nick pull out some small glass vials that looked like ancient perfume bottles and place them on the table, clinking them together violently. “No more dangerous than the stuff you just placed on my couch table. Without a coaster, I might add.” Some of the liquids seemed to continue swirling on their own inside the vials. Intrigued, Monroe leaned closer. “Are you sure you should have transported those unwrapped? Or at all?”

“I don’t know,” Nick sighed and lifted out another bottle. “Mäusemilch,” he read off the yellowed label. “No idea what all that stuff is even for.” Suddenly the corked bottle in his hand started hissing, making both men shrink back. Nick carefully placed it on the table, far away from the others. “Um… maybe Rosalee can clear some of that up for me, too?”

“Yes, maybe,” Monroe answered, straightening up. “And maybe in the meantime we leave that stuff right where it is until we know you won’t blow up the roof over our heads.”

Sighing, Nick stepped back. “Alright, man. Let’s go and find Rosalee. And maybe afterwards we can get some more stuff from the trailer.”

***

tbc


	2. Liquid Puzzles

After the uncommonly cold autumn air the inside of Rosalee's tea shop felt like a sauna, warm and pleasantly steamy. It took a moment for the feeling to return to Nick's fingertips. He had to admit that maybe he should have picked something warmer than his leather jacket, considering that it was the beginning of October and that the heating in his friend's yellow Beetle had about as much power as the one in Marie's trailer. But the winter stuff was still buried in one of the many boxes currently residing in Monroe's guest room.

Rosalee was busy advising an elderly lady on which tea to buy for her son and only managed a brief smile in their direction, waving them through to the back room, before tugging more tins from the shelves behind her to present to her customer. 

For a second Nick paused, watching Rosalee open this box and that to let the customer sniff at the different herbal blends. 

He took a deep breath himself, listening to his Fuchsbau friend explain about all the different ingredients. The smells of tea and spices and herbs had something very alluring and mysterious. The right amount of this powder could cure a man, when just a slightly bigger pinch could as easily kill another. Some of the teas made strong healing draughts, while others simply tasted nice. Only how to know which was which?

And wasn't that just his problem. The trailer was stuffed full with an arsenal of containers of every kind, some with obscure and often illegible labels - some filled with milky, oily, or cloudy fluids, some with dried stuff he wasn't sure was supposed to be dry - pouches of dried herbs, some crushed, some ground into a paste and pressed into bars, roots that looked moldy and spoiled, or semi-precious stones that looked like somebody had grated off slices with a vegetable peeler. Not to mention the fungi. Nick hadn't even dared to touch them.

The trailer’s apothecary cupboard looked a lot like Rosalee's store room. Maybe she could help him find out what he owned and what to use it for.

His thoughts turned to his weapons arsenal. Nick had found that not a single one of the myriad of pieces in there was useless. And that thought had brought with it the realization that the contents of the many vials and pouches probably weren’t useless either. He felt it was a wholly different kind of weapons arsenal at his disposal, like the Siegbarste Gift. Only he couldn't tap into it yet. 

A hiss from the direction of the back room drew him from his musings and he looked up to find Monroe waving at him from the open door.

As he made his way over, he noticed his friend anxiously fiddle with something at his neck and he had to smile at the flustered look on the Blutbad's face. 

"When did you put on the bow tie?" he asked, amusement clearly audible in his voice. "And is that hair wax?"

Now wasn't that rather more bemusing than amusing, Nick thought to himself.

"Is it too much? It's too much. I'll take it off."

"Relax! What's going on with you today?" Nick asked, pushing Monroe’s hands away from his throat.

He got his answer a moment later when Rosalee entered the back room with a loud sigh.

“She always does that,” the young Fuchsbau groaned, dropping into a chair at her work table and burying her face in her hands.

At that moment Nick couldn’t decide where to look - Rosalee sob-laughing into her hands or Monroe’s face, which had turned beet red the moment the apothecary had entered the back room. And then Nick had to keep from bursting out laughing, as he suddenly figured out what was wrong with his friend, who was doing his best fish imitation and not saying anything to the woman he’d apparently fallen head over heels for.

“What’d she do?” Nick finally asked, after several seconds of silence, walking over to Rosalee to place a hand on her shoulder. That finally brought Monroe out of his trance.

“Make me open all the tea tins,” Rosalee sighed. “Every single one of them! Every week!”

“Must be a good customer.”

That got him an uncharacteristic chuckle from the young woman. “Far from it! When she’s done going through all the mixtures, she decides she doesn’t like any of them and makes me mix a custom blend, only to decide she does not like the cornflower petals in it, or remembers that her son is allergic to rose hip, even though she picked all the ingredients herself.”

Monroe's outrage was clearly audible in his voice. "But why do you do it, then?"

Rosalee looked up from the table and towards the Blutbad as if she'd forgotten he was there. Which, with her nose, was pretty unlikely. "Because her daughter is one of my best customers," she explained. "I shouldn't whine. She buys excellent teas and lots of them. And she always tells me how much her mother loves the shopping experience here. So I really shouldn't complain about a bit of custom tea blend going to waste."

The brief look she threw his friend from beneath her lashes made Nick wonder if the sudden infatuation was entirely one-sided and he decided to test his theory. "Well, I'm sure Monroe can take that off your hands."

The two stared at him in surprise and he just shrugged. "I mean, he loves tea and I'm sure the blends aren't all that awful..." He shrugged, using the moment Rosalee turned towards the Blutbad to raise an eyebrow at his friend. 

"That is a great idea!" Monroe’s sudden enthusiasm nearly made Nick laugh.

"You would do that?" Rosalee asked with another hesitant glance in Monroe's direction.

"Of course! It is just as Nick said. I enjoy tea and at least the ingredients will be of excellent quality."

Monroe really wasn't himself today, Nick decided. Time for a rescue mission. "Well, now that that's settled, let's talk business." He walked over to the work bench and dropped down in the chair opposite Rosalee's.

"Business? Would you like a custom blend as well?" Rosalee asked, now clearly amused by the change of topic.

Nick shook his head and watched as the Fuchsbau immediately got up from her chair and started preparing a pot of tea over by the sink. The motions were soothing to her as well as to the two men in the room, who had watched her prepare her fine teas so many times before that it had become a calming ritual. "You see, I inherited a lot of stuff from my aunt," he explained. "Herbs, spices, vials full of liquids I have no idea what to do with, and I wanted to see if you could help me with that."

"Plus, he needs some space to store it all while he gets the trailer fixed," Monroe interjected, accepting a mug of steaming tea from Rosalee's hands. Without even the slightest nervous tremble, Nick noticed with relief. "I bet he could blow up my whole house with half the stuff he put on my coffee table today."

“How much are we talking about exactly?”

***

Hours later the two friends returned to Monroe’s house.

Taking Wesen to his trailer always seemed to turn into an experience in itself for Nick. Rosalee had reminded him of the first time he’d brought Monroe along and of the Blutbad’s subsequent periodic ecstatic ravings on all things Grimm. The Fuchsbau had taken one look inside and fallen in love instantly. Only she wasn’t interested in the weapons but in the apothecary vials and recipe books Nick pulled out from beneath the bunk bed.

Rosalee had just stepped into paradise and had wasted no time in figuring out that it would indeed be better to transport all leftover vials right out of the freezing trailer; not only because of a burst vial in one of the cupboards. Its contents had frozen solid, shattering the glass in the process, and now were melting all over the place.

The herbs and powders were safe for the moment, she decided, but she had insisted on cataloging the liquids and jellies right away to take them to her shop. Luckily most of them hadn’t proved to be too volatile, at least not on their own, and Rosalee had known which ones to keep separate. It had taken them the better part of the afternoon to identify, pack, and transport the most important substances to the shop.

Rosalee had promised to have a look at the books and see if there was anything in them for Nick to use. They’d left her in the back room, already lovingly leafing through a book. All they managed to get out of her after that was a half-hearted wave goodbye, which had Monroe sulking for the rest of the drive home.

“I’ve had enough of funny liquids in glass vials for one day,” Monroe groaned and pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge, handing one of them over to his friend.

The irony of that statement was not lost on Nick, who saluted the Blutbad with his brew and an amused grin. “Maybe then I should not mention that there are still several glass containers full of liquid sitting on your coffee table.”

“Damn, I completely forgot about them!” Monroe groused, walking into the living room to stand in front of said coffee table.

“Well, nothing to be done about that tonight,” Nick sighed, throwing himself down on the couch to take another sip of his beer. “I’m glad to be off my feet for now. Enough running around for one day.”

Just that moment his phone decided to ring.

“Or not,” he sighed, reaching into his pocket. “Burkhardt.”

He listened for a second, already putting his beer down on the table. “Yeah, I can be there in ten.”

“Was that Hank? Do you have a case?” Monroe asked when he had hung up.

“Yeah,” Nick sighed, getting up and added in a joking tone, ”at least you won’t have to cook for two tonight.” 

He was out the door before Monroe could start giving him a piece of his mind on their cooking arrangements.

***

"Why do we always get the gory ones?" Hank sighed disgustedly upon looking at the body they'd been called out for. "It's never the ones that get shot, lately. No, we get torn-off limbs, rat-eaten faces, or beheadings."

Nick had to agree with his partner. The last "normal" case, as he'd referred to it, had been ages ago, a suicide as it had turned out, who had jumped from a building. After that their cases had become stomach-turning. And always with ties to the Wesen world. 

Not that Hank knew. He stared at the deep claw marks on the woman's belly. The victim had been pregnant. But there was no sign of the baby.

Nick had the feeling this meant a visit with some of Portland's shadier characters for him and a trip to the police psychologist for Hank. His partner didn't take such cases well, especially those where women were involved, and Nick was a little worried about him. 

Lately any and all cases they got just seemed to go right up that alley. If he didn't know better, Nick might have believed someone was shuffling them his way on purpose.

"Gruesome sight," a serious voice startled him out of his musings and he turned around to face the captain, who was leaning almost nonchalantly against a lamp post.

Nick could only nod.

"I wanted my best men on the job," Renard added almost apologetically. Nick watched the captain's gaze wander over the chaos, the carnage that had been a hale and healthy young woman mere hours ago, the forensics team bustling all around the crime scene, a young officer losing his dinner into a nearby trashcan. Finally he sighed. "Even after so many years on the force I find myself wondering what kind of animal could do such a thing."

With these words he looked directly at Nick, an unfamiliar, hard glint in his eyes, and not for the first time the detective wondered just how much his captain really knew.

He had no proof, of course, that the captain was anything but human or even that he knew Nick was a Grimm. But something made him believe there was a reason he and Hank got all the Wesen cases.

Sure, they probably were the best team in the precinct, only their closing rate wasn't all that high. A lot of their cases remained unsolved, mainly because Nick did his best to cover up the ones he had to solve as a Grimm. Yet they ended up with the difficult ones more often than not lately. And the one person responsible for assigning them was Renard.

Nick had never seen him woge into whatever Wesen might hide behind the man's calm and collected professional facade.

The forensics team wasn't done yet and Nick took the opportunity to watch his captain, who was ducking under the yellow tape to get a closer look at the body. The man wasn't squeamish, Nick had to hand him that, even as he appeared to be just as rattled as the rest of his team at the sight of the young victim. He could tell by the way Renard brushed a hand through his short hair, really the only gesture Nick had found that spoke of stress.

There were small hints speaking of Wesen in the man, to one who had been part of the Wesen world long enough to recognize them. Lightning fast reflexes were a clue, like just then, when the captain's hand shot out too quickly to see and caught the arm of an officer who had slipped in a pool of blood. The young officer gasped in surprise as he was pulled to his feet by a strong hand he hadn't even been aware of a moment ago. 

His body spoke of exceptional strength, carefully harnessed. Nick had seen once what the captain hid beneath slacks and dress shirt on a case of what had looked like radiation poisoning years ago. During his first year with the force, he had also seen that body in action, muscles straining beneath the white fabric as Renard and only two other officers had lifted a car off a body when the tow truck hadn't shown.

And a deadly accurate aim with a gun. He'd stood next to the captain during firearm training, had experienced the calm and focused energy radiating off the man, smelled the mixture of gunpowder and a faint hint of sweat, had watched as one bullet after another unwaveringly found its goal with more accuracy than anybody on the range had ever seen.

Sometimes Nick also caught a glance, of what he couldn't say, out of the corner of his eye, that left him with a strangely unsettling feeling.

Yet, those were all things normal humans would be able to accomplish. And that strange glimpse might have just been a trick of the light. Then again, his instincts told him otherwise. And he'd learned to trust them.

As long as he didn't know for sure he’d watch.

“Nick, the guys are done taking prints,” Hank interrupted his thoughts. “They’re ready to take the body back to the precinct. Didn’t really find anything except for hairs all over the place.”

“Hairs? Like human hairs?” Nick frowned, stepping closer to the body once more.

“No, more like animal hairs. It looks like there was a bunch of cats rubbing themselves all over her clothes.”

“We’ll find out if she has any at home, then.” Nick sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

“Wouldn’t explain how they got into her stomach. We didn’t even need the coroner to tell us that. They’re pretty obvious, Wu says.”

“What animal would leave hairs inside a body?”

“I don’t even want to know,” Hank visibly shuddered.

Actually, Nick had a pretty good idea what could have left animal hairs all over the place. Something that would also fit in with the claw marks. But that was something he couldn’t tell Hank.

“Well, without any prints or other evidence there isn’t much we can do for now. Let's head in and wait for some lab results.” And didn’t they both just love that.

***

tbc


	3. Finding Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosalee buys something that immediately raises Nick's suspicions.  
> Renard has also found something.

They had to wait till the next day for results. Nick shared a cab with Hank and had it drop him off a few blocks away from Monroe's.

He didn't get more than a couple of hours of sleep before he dragged himself out of bed, into the shower, and back to the precinct. At least it was early enough for Monroe to drive him before yoga class.

What awaited them was inconclusive. The rush order for testing on the hairs had led to nothing. The only thing the lab had been able to say for certain was that the DNA appeared to be human at first glance, but the chromosome sets didn't quite match. Something must have contaminated the samples. 

As a result, nobody had run a databank search, something that didn't sit right with Nick.

The autopsy of the woman's body showed that she had been in the last stages of her pregnancy. She was identified as Illina Miller, resident of Tigard, and had been due to give birth the day after next, as her midwife had told the officers over the phone.

Her body had been badly mangled, her belly virtually ripped apart by what the coroner concluded to have been very sharp knifes. The woman had died from the resulting blood loss. 

Nobody knew if the baby had survived the violent and premature birth. It seemed to have vanished along with the killer.

"Whoever did this must have been after the baby," Hank concluded, leaning back in his chair. "I'll do some research into the family background, possible lover and such."

Nick could only agree. "Somebody must have had an interest in getting to the child before anybody else. I'll try and see if I can find similar cases."

"You've seen this before?"

Nick shook his head. “No. But it does sound like human trafficking. I’ve got a hunch.”

He watched his partner get up and grab his jacket. "Go for it. Your sudden hunches have solved quite a lot of cases lately. I don't know how you do it," Hank groused, though he was less annoyed by that fact than he let on. He was, after all, one half of one of the best teams in the precinct.

***

The investigation wasn’t yielding results, even several days later. The victim had been an orphan and unmarried. The person closest to Illina was a friend and neighbor who had told the detectives that no, she had no idea who the father was. There hadn't been anybody steady in Illina's life for a while and she'd simply come to her friend one day and told her she was expecting and quite happy about it.

"I have never seen her look so content," the young woman sobbed. "She was really looking forward to being a mother. She even turned the office in her apartment into a nursery only days after getting the results!"

"We may have to take a look around Illina’s apartment," Hank had explained. "You don't happen to have a spare key?"

She'd had one and had led the detectives there herself. All they had found after an extensive search were a laptop with about a ton of well-encrypted emails that were currently being deciphered and one expensively furnished nursery where there used to be an office. Even the victim's friend had been slightly taken aback at the sight of the custom-made crib, the fine baby bedding, and the myriad of knickknacks not strictly necessary for caring for a newborn infant, all of the finest quality.

"There's money involved," Hank whispered when they left the apartment.

"Isn't there always. Now we only need to find out who paid for what and why."

***

When his phone rang, Monroe was in the middle of cooking dinner. The steak would be toast if he left it alone to answer the phone now. But then, he had to be grateful that this time he wasn't interrupted during one of his Pilates sessions. Thank god for small favors, he thought as he pulled the pan with his veggie steak off the stove and went to answer the call. 

"Monroe, I need your help," was the first thing he heard from the Fuchsbau at the other end.

"And a nice evening to you, too, Rosalee," he laughed, secretly tickled that she'd call and ask him for help and no longer annoyed that he'd been interrupted.

"Sorry for calling so late," Rosalee apologized, "but could you come over here and maybe bring Nick along? I’ve… found something he'll be interested in."

"What happened? Is everything alright?" Monroe asked worriedly, already searching for his car keys.

"Yes, everything's fine," came the Fuchsbau's steady voice over the line, along with a loud wailing sound in the background. Monroe could barely understand the last part of her sentence. "I just think this is a matter I shouldn’t handle by myself."

"What's going on?" the Blutbad asked, finally finding the car keys in the pocket of his jacket.

"Calm down, Monroe," Rosalee laughed, clearly amused by his concern. "I'm not in immediate danger. Just grab Nick and come over here, would you? Oh, and bring a blanket. I've got to go." Another loud wail could be heard and then she hung up.

"Nick?" the Blutbad yelled in the direction of the stairs. The Grimm was busy going through an inventory list of his trailer and Monroe just knew he'd hate to be disturbed. Well, he thought with satisfaction, time for payback. "Dude, we gotta get to the spice shop!"

His sensitive ears picked up noise from upstairs and a minute later Nick was coming down, crumpled sheets of paper still clutched in one hand.

"Can't you go on a date by yourself for once?" the disgruntled Grimm asked, but Monroe didn't take the time to be offended by the comment.

"Grab a blanket and let's be off. Rosalee called. She needs help and not with carrying boxes, from the sound of it.”

"Sound of what? Is she alright? And what does she need a blanket for?" He was already heading upstairs for his jacket.

"She didn't say, just to bring you and a blanket,” the Blutbad called in the direction of the stairs. "And since she didn't ask for a tarp and shovel I doubt it's a body," he added jokingly. It didn't do anything to calm Nick any. 

They were off and at the shop a few minutes later, Nick pushing through the door with rather more force than necessary in his haste, a hand on his gun. The familiar smells and warmth greeted them inside, but something made Monroe's nose twitch. There was something else there.

"In the back room," the apothecary's voice greeted them and they made their way over.

The sight upon opening the door to the back room made both men stop dead in their tracks.

Rosalee stood by her work bench, cradling a small bundle in her arms. A bundle that just then emitted an alarming wailing sound.

Nick's mouth dropped open as he took in the Fuchsbau holding a baby in her arms. The infant was tiny with a head of fuzzy red hair and was currently making its displeasure at their loud entrance known with small cries. 

"It's a girl," Rosalee told them with a smile and took a step in their direction, all the while soothing the little one with gentle pats to her stomach. Nick looked ready to bolt. Or pull out his gun.

"Um, Rosalee, where did you get her?" he asked, his voice so full of sudden suspicion that Monroe could imagine what the detective was thinking. 

"I bought her," was the simple answer, which of course didn't do anything for his friend's composure.

"You bought her?!" Nick burst out in disbelief, reaching for his phone. The baby gave another wail, which earned the detective a sharp glance from Rosalee.

"I think you better sit down and explain," Monroe suggested, stepping between the two and guiding Rosalee to the low settee with a gentle hand on her arm. "I'll make some tea."

"I was locking up for the night," the apothecary started, patting the space next to her, giving Nick a significant look. Of course he didn't sit down, choosing to pace the floor instead. He was giving Rosalee the benefit of the doubt, at least for now.

"I heard a knock and in comes this Skalengeck with a red sports bag, saying he wants to talk to the owner about a deal."

"What deal?" Nick interrupted her impatiently, but Rosalee would not be rushed. 

"I'm getting to that, detective," she answered, a hint of teasing in her voice. "He told me he possessed a source of valuable ingredients he was looking to sell."

A pause had Monroe look up from his brewing. "You're talking about..."

"Yes, I am talking about human ingredients," the apothecary confirmed, holding up a hand to forestall Nick's next outburst. "You know I don’t deal in those kinds of remedies and you are always welcome to look through my stores. To which you do have access with the key I gave you to get to the stuff you stored downstairs," she added, finally cowing the detective into embarrassed silence.

"Anyway," she continued, "I know what kinds of ingredients my brother dealt with and even though I do not I know some things about them, for example that some are best used fresh. So fresh that some suppliers keep live sources."

Monroe's face must have mirrored Nick's horrified look, but neither of the two men interrupted the apothecary.

"So I thought that maybe I could save some poor cat or parrot from a gruesome fate and agreed to check out the source. This is what he pulled out of his bag," she explained, slightly lifting the baby. "I immediately knew who she was; it was all over the news and the hair color fit. So I bought her."

"How much?" Nick's tone was deadly serious.

"Sixteen thousand. Cash." Even more serious. 

Not enough for an invaluable human life. Yet Rosalee hadn't hesitated.

"I thought it was better to have the police involved right from the start."

“I have to call it in.” Nick was already out the door, pulling out his phone, dialing.

“Nick, wait, there’s something you need to know about her.”

Rosalee got up and hurried over to Monroe, thrusting the wailing bundle into his arms.

The detective turned toward her when she opened the door to the shop, the phone in his hand forgotten. “What?”

“She’s a hybrid.”

***

A hybrid. Renard stared down at the baby sleeping in her crib. He’d known the moment he’d entered the hospital nursery.

A frown distorted his usually composed features. How she had ended up with the young Fuchsbau, who happened to be the friend of a friend of one of his detectives, was something he planned to find out.

The story was that somebody had placed a bundle on her doorstep just as she’d been closing up her shop. She’d seen the man who’d placed the baby there, she said, and would be able to identify him.

After that, Rosalee Calvert had asked a friend of hers for help, who happened to be the current roommate of one Detective Nick Burkhardt.

They’d taken the baby to the hospital to be checked out. Surprisingly, the little girl seemed to have survived the quite violent birth and her subsequent ordeal without much more than some dehydration and an uncomfortable diaper rash quickly alleviated by age-appropriate formula and an antibacterial cream.

Not so surprising considering that she was half Coyotl. And that was why he believed that there was more to her pre-natal kidnapping and subsequent reappearance at a spice and tea shop that had had quite a reputation in Wesen circles in the past.

Hybrids were incredibly rare in the Wesen world, an anomaly, a genetic mishap. And they were very much sought after by brewers of Zaubertränke. Depending on the Wesen mixed in with the human blood, ingredients won from hybrids had different properties, making almost any brew, potion, or tincture that much more potent. Since they were so rare, hybrid ingredients were immensely expensive. A live source like the little girl would have sold for several thousand dollars on the black market. He wondered if that was what had happened at the spice shop, if the apothecary had handed over some money with the intention of harvesting ingredients and then gotten cold feet. The case was all over the news after all.

It didn’t matter for now. He had no reason to bring in the young woman as a suspect, since she’d contacted the police right away. Also, Detective Burkhardt seemed to trust her.

Two officers were already at work at the precinct, going through security recordings from a jeweler down the road to see if the cameras had caught a man with a red sports bag walking towards the spice shop.

The little one knew nothing of what was going on around her. Her mother hadn’t had any relatives left, so she would stay at the hospital for a few more days until a foster home was found. It would take some effort for him to find a nice Wesen family for her to grow up in, somebody to protect her. Hybrids were vulnerable.

Renard reached out and stroked one gentle finger along her small cheek. All the baby did was give a content sigh and snuggle into the mattress, still deeply asleep after the commotions of the past days.

He could make sure nobody found out what she really was. Hybrids could get in danger and they were at a distinct disadvantage against most Wesen, at least until they found their mate.

He should know. He’d found his.

***

tbc


	4. Personal Involvement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody wants the little baby girl back.

“They’ll take good care of her,” Monroe reassured an upset Rosalee the next day. She’d handed over the wailing baby to the nurses without fuss, but her worry would not be appeased easily, it seemed. “You did the right thing, telling Nick.”

“I know,” the Fuchsbau sighed and let herself sink deeper into Monroe's sofa, a cup of tea clutched in her hand. “I just hope they won’t put her in an orphanage. That is no place for a baby to grow up.”

“They won’t. They’ll find her a nice foster family and she’ll soon get adopted,” Monroe tried again.

“Are you sure? She needs a Wesen family. To find one with a hybrid parent would be perfect, but that is probably too much to ask for.”

He sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her. “Look, we’ll ask Nick. He’ll surely be able to tell us what’ll happen to her.”

“At least he can check out the families. You know, I know a Coyotl family that only recently moved here. They already have an adopted boy. The mother came in last week looking for something for her son’s sore throat.”

Both Wesen looked up when they heard Nick’s key in the lock. “Speaking of, there seem to be a lot of new Wesen families in Portland,” Monroe remarked.

“Like your heater repair guy,” Nick added, having caught the end of Monroe’s sentence.

“Yeah, like him. There are also two Mausherz families that moved in down the road a couple of months ago,” the Blutbad added. “We haven’t had that many new entries to the community in a long time.”

He got up and went to the kitchen door to keep Nick company while the man was reheating some leftovers for a late dinner.

“No wonder, considering the rumors,” Rosalee called after him.

Nick turned. “What rumors?”

“Oh, nothing,” the suddenly flustered Blutbad replied, which got him a suspicious look from a tired Grimm. 

“Monroe, talk.”

“There’s talk of a Grimm in town.”

“Really,” Nick deadpanned around his first bite of tofu stir fry. “I thought a Grimm would work as quite the Wesen repellent.”

“Not if the Grimm is controlled by a royal,” came Rosalee’s voice from just behind them.

“Controlled? What do you mean, controlled?” Nick asked, turning to face the Fuchsbau, eyes suddenly alert again.

“Dude, haven’t you read up on your history?”

“No, Monroe,” Nick answered. “I was busy reading up on a shitload of Wesen involved in some crime or another. So could somebody please enlighten me about this control thing?”

"You see, it's like this," Monroe began in his best storytelling voice. "For long years in the past the royals had Grimms under their command. These were the Grimms that were a bit like you are today. They had a conscience or at least a royal to play conscience for them, and they took care of the ones not playing by the rules. Wesen flocked to the protected cities and settled there because they felt safe, just like they seem to here in Portland. With their control over the Wesen community growing, the royals gained influence and power.”

Monroe took a deep breath. "And knowing you and your methods I can well understand why they do."

For a moment nobody said a word, Monroe for once not in the mood to embellish his tale of ages past. 

"Actually that is one of the reasons I decided to move here, even with what happened to Freddie," Rosalee finally spoke up. "I just haven't thought about it much since I've got to know you."

"So what does that mean for the Grimm?"

“They were safe from the wrath of the reapers. You know, the guys the royals engage to hunt down disloyal Grimms," Monroe added.

The Grimm visibly had to chew on that and for a few moments silence reigned.

“Nobody controls me," he finally bit out from between clenched teeth. His sudden aggression tugged at Monroe’s insides and he could feel himself shudder with the vibes coming from his friend.

“Easy there, Grimm. We know that!” he tried to calm him. His eyes met Rosalee’s who was fully woged and looking rather concerned.

“But they don’t,” Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The Wesen see a Grimm bound to a royal, ready and willing to do his bidding! It’s like I’m advertising for them!” His fork landed on the table with a clatter. “I will not be a part of the families’ schemes to gain power.”

To Monroe that sounded rather final and he would have preferred to leave it at that. Rosalee didn't. 

“But Nick, how do you plan on changing the community’s opinion of you?” she asked. “You worked so hard for the Wesen you’ve met to see you as more than their worst nightmare. And, frankly, I can’t see any way to keep that image alive and distance yourself from the royals at the same time.”

Another sigh. He could still feel Nick's tension, but was surprised when the Grimm laughed. "Maybe I shouldn't care so much about my reputation, as long as I don't get attacked on sight. Still, I'd like to find out who this royal is. Aren't the families rather attached to their old haunts?"

"It is unusual for a member of the families to settle here," Rosalee confirmed, her grip on her Wesen side firmly in place once more. Nick hadn't even seemed to notice the change in her. "Well, I'll keep an ear open for more rumors about whoever it is that decided to rule Portland."

The Fuchsbau put her mug down onto a coaster and got up. "I've had enough excitement to last me a week and I still need to stock shelves. Thank you for the tea, Monroe."

The two men got up as well, as Nick had offered to drive her home. Their good-byes, however, were interrupted by the ringing of Nick's phone.

"Sorry, I need to get this," he murmured apologetically.

***

"Is Ms. Calvert with you?" was the first thing Hank said when Nick answered the phone. 

"I was actually just about to drive her home. Why, what's going on?" he asked, well aware of the two Wesen by the open front door listening.

"The spice shop was broken into. Place is a mess. You better get your ass over here; there was a body," Hank added just before hanging up. 

Nick tiredly threw his head back and suppressed a groan. Just his luck. Or rather, just Rosalee's luck. He turned towards his friends, detective mask firmly in place.

"They broke into the shop," he informed her, glad that Monroe was there to place a protective arm around Rosalee’s shoulder. "There is a body."

They were at the shop in a matter of minutes, Hank already waiting by the door to greet them. “Ms. Calvert, thank you for coming so quickly," he greeted Rosalee, waving for Wu to come over. “Officer Wu will accompany you inside to determine the damage."

Wu gently guided her inside through the broken door, Monroe not straying from her side. 

"Sorry for dragging you in on your day off," Hank apologized to his partner. "I thought you might want to take a look at this. Soon as the captain gets wind of your involvement you're off the case."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it." Nick took the time to inspect the scratched doorjamb and broken wood panels. Forced entry. Around them there were people gathering by the yellow tape barrier trying to see in through the shop windows.

“Ms. Calvert was with you these last few hours, I gather?" Hank asked, more to confirm his suspicion than voice any real doubt.

"Yeah," Nick nodded, finally pushing inside. The place was indeed a mess. Boxes full of tea had been thrown to the floor and spilled their contents all over the place. A cupboard had been tipped on its side and the collection of small perfumes had been swept off the counter. Their combined smell scented the air in the room rather cloyingly, making it an effort to breathe.

To his surprise, the chaos seemed to be confined to the front part of the store and he got the impression that it was the result of a rather violent fight. In the middle of tea and glass shards was a pool of blood.

"Where is the body?" Nick asked sharply, turning towards his partner.

"They took it away already. Sorry," he added when he saw Nick frown. "I couldn't bring her in with it still here."

Nick sighed. "I know. Just would have liked to have a look at it."

"Wasn't pretty," Hank shrugged. "You can have a look at the guy at the precinct. Wu recognized him. He was the one they caught on tape walking towards the shop with a sports bag."

That got Hank a surprised look. He nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. "Somebody searched the place. Quite methodically, from what it looks like."

Nick followed Hank down the narrow staircase, suddenly remembering his own possessions stored down there and worried about what he might find.

The chaos he'd expected was absent, however. Somebody had moved and opened the big wooden shipping crates, gone through cupboards and shelves, but without damaging anything, from what he could tell. His own stores looked untouched. 

"They sure did. Looks like they knew what they wanted and that it couldn't have been kept on a shelf," Nick mused. "I think you know as well as I do what they were looking for."

"The baby. They want it back."

He nodded. Things didn't make sense. Why sell the child to Rosalee, only to try and get it back later on? Had the Skalengeck gotten a better offer from somebody else?

The body didn't fit either. There were at least two people involved. The man who had sold Rosalee the baby - he still cringed inwardly at the thought of a human infant as merchandise - and another person who had taken him down. His eyes hadn't missed the fine dusting of animal hairs on the dimly lit stairs. Rosalee kept her shop meticulously clean after all.

"They'll try to find her. And Rosalee."

The sound of steps on the stairs made both men turn. Nick involuntarily took a deep breath. A pleasant hint of sweat and gunpowder mixed with tea.

“Nick, go home. You have no business being here,” Renard spoke as soon as he discovered the two men in the basement. “No more personal involvement. Your partner was already bending the rules when he called you, but I am willing to overlook it this one time.”

“No need to overlook anything,” Nick replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I came with Rosalee to check if anything was missing from my storage space.”

“Storage space?”

“Yeah, for some of the stuff my aunt left me,” he explained, fingering the badge on his belt. “Mostly seeds and herbs I didn’t really know what to do with,” he explained grudgingly. “She was a hobby herbalist.”

“So? Anything missing?” Clearly the captain was eager to be rid of him.

“No, the cupboard wasn’t even opened.”

“Fine. Detective, would you please escort Nick out of here? He can give his statement tomorrow at the precinct.”

On his way to the stairs he passed by the captain. Nick couldn’t help taking another deep breath. Gunpowder and darkness. Their eyes met for just a second and he once again couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the man than he was showing.

Hank led him upstairs and out of the shop where Rosalee was still inspecting the damage with Wu. “Hey man, you gonna keep me posted?”

“Sure. But you can guess what happens next.”

Nick nodded. “Protective custody.”

“They’re going to come after her to get to the baby. I don’t understand why they want her back when they’ve already sold her.”

“Me either, but I hope we’ll find out in time."

***

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and Kudos! Writing this is so much fun!


	5. The one behind you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick is nervous. Who is behind the kidnapping and now threatening Rosalee? And who is working from the shadows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post. Easter was a little busy.

Monroe had taken to pacing. Crossing the kitchen, through the hallway and into the living room. Turn and back. Repeat. 

His work bench was still stacked with clocks in different stages of repair. He'd found he didn't have the steady hand necessary for clock repair when he was worried. And right now he was. 

He had talked to Rosalee briefly before they had taken her away. They'd taken her right from the shop, he didn't know where, and she'd been told not to tell anybody or even take her phone. Captain Reward had killed two birds with one stone, placing Rosalee at the same location as the little girl. At least this way he hadn't had to find a nursemaid, as she had immediately offered to take on that job while they were there. How long that was, nobody could say at this point. 

The agitated Blutbad wasn't sure if he should be relieved or worried that Nick didn't know more than he did, much to the detective's annoyance.

The Grimm hadn't taken to the situation any better than he had. He had been pacing the garden, frown firmly in place. His captain had given him a few days off, since Hank was still working the case Nick was banned from. And there was no way in hell Nick would stay out of the case as long as he was at the precinct. 

Not that the free time did Nick any good. There was too much time for brooding for both of them. And it was time for the Blutbad to do something about it.

“Nick,” he called out the door, grabbing his jacket.

“What!” his roommate called back from outside, stopping his pacing along Monroe’s porch.

“Nick, we’re going to the shop.”

“And what are you planning on doing there?”

He grabbed Nick’s jacket from the door, briefly considering lending his friend something warmer to wear, but then just threw the thin leather at him. “Well, I for one am going to clean up and get the shop ready to open tomorrow. And you,” he added, “are going to help me.”

The Grimm just threw him a dark look, but took the jacket from his hand and stepped off the porch.

They found the shop just how they had left it, crushed herbs, broken glass, and spilled tea - door unlocked.

“Didn’t your esteemed colleagues think to lock up behind them?!” Monroe exclaimed indignantly.

Nick frowned at the door. “They would have; it’s standard procedure.” He pushed the door the rest of the way open, careful not to ring the bells hanging from the ceiling inside.

Monroe made to follow him, but a wave of Nick’s hand stopped him. “Stay back, there’s somebody in there.” With that he vanished, leaving him behind before Monroe had time to protest.

The Blutbad remained standing outside for a few minutes, debating with himself whether he should simply ignore Nick’s order and follow the Grimm to see if he couldn’t help deal with whoever was in the shop.

He’d just made up his mind to go in when the door swung open beside him, ringing the bells loudly. A blonde woman stormed past him, carrying a paper coffee cup, followed closely by a shouting Nick.

“What do you mean, you were paid for this?” His tone was quite incredulous as he was shouting at the woman currently digging through her purse in a hurry. She looked up when the enraged Grimm stopped right in front of her, hand on his hip where he was usually carrying his gun.

“Listen, Grimm,” she began with a smile that was as charming as it was false. "Listen and pay attention. It's really very simple. Somebody would very much like to know what you have inside that cupboard of yours down there. And I had the misfortune of being assigned the job of finding out," she explained, as if talking to a small child. Her tone seemed to rile Nick up even more. "Only he will not be pleased that I was interrupted by you so rudely barging in."

“I could arrest you for breaking and entering!" The Grimm was close to shouting now. Monroe didn't quite know what to do. There didn't seem to be any danger for Nick, or the woman, for that matter, so he decided to watch how this played out. Nick obviously knew her.

"Fat chance of that," the blonde laughed in false amusement. "With the door open? Nothing stolen? And you're not even on duty, much less carrying handcuffs or a weapon," she added with a gleeful look toward Nick's empty belt. Then she turned towards her small car, having finally located her keys, and made to get in. 

Nick wouldn't have it. "Who is this royal?" he bit out from between clenched teeth. "Who are you working for?" He stepped between her and the car door, catching the hand holding the paper cup with his elbow. The brown liquid sloshed onto the woman's coat and her plastered-on smile died instantly.

"Touch me again, Grimm, and you'll find out in a very unpleasant manner," she bit out. She waved her hand and suddenly Nick's shoes scraped over the pavement as if she'd pushed him away with all her strength. Only, Monroe hadn't caught her even touching him.

Nick was as perplexed as he was, suddenly standing in the middle of the street, and jumped back just in time to avoid an oncoming car. The witch took her chance to get in her car, dabbing at the coffee stain on her sleeve with a tissue. A moment later the engine revved to life and the car drew out into the traffic.

“Did she just move you?” Monroe asked, staring after the car.

“Damn!”

“Nick, what just happened? Who was that Hexenbiest that just came out of Rosalee’s shop?”

***

“That, Monroe, was Adalind Schade.”

Nick dropped the key onto a nearby work bench, opening wide the doors to his storage cupboard.

“You mean the Adalind Schade, Hexenbiest who tried witchcraft on your partner to get him to fall in love with her?”

He felt Monroe step up behind him. “The one and only. Do you know where Rosalee put the inventory lists? I need to see if anything’s missing.”

“I thought you said she didn’t get in?” the Blutbad asked, already turning towards the stairs to look for Rosalee’s ledger.

“Yeah, but she happens to be a Hexenbiest who just shoved me without even touching me. I have no idea what she might have done in here.”

“Good point, I’ll get the books.”

The contents didn’t seem to be out of place at first glance. With Rosalee’s help they had sorted the different tinctures, herbs, powders, and poisons into groups and spaced them apart evenly. She was neat like that.

Apparently Adalind really hadn’t had a chance to get in, just like she’d said. He was wondering at the open door upstairs, however. It was standard procedure to make sure the door of a crime scene was locked. 

Nick wanted to groan in frustration. He couldn’t stand the woman. It was a gut reaction the first time he’d seen her across the street. And not just because he’d seen her woge into a Hexenbiest. He’d hated her even more after the little game she’d played with Hank.

That story still didn’t add up. He had no idea what she’d been planning on achieving with that stunt. She had clearly been looking for a way to get close to Hank with those cookies she’d tailored to him specifically. What a coincidence it had been that they’d figured out her plan in time. But they’d had no idea back then what she’d been trying to achieve, just like now.

Only this time he’d had her cornered and not as a suspect at the precinct with half the police force keeping an eye out for trouble.

He’d had no intention of doing her harm, at least not as long as he hadn’t found out what she was up to, but she didn’t know that. And she had let something slip.

Adalind Schade was working for a member of the royal family here in Portland. And she knew who he was.

Nick had to bite back a grin when he remembered her look of annoyance at herself when he’d tickled that particular bit of information out of the Hexenbiest without even touching her. She’d been out of the shop pretty fast after that and he hadn’t gotten anything else from her. But at least now he had a link. And he would use it to get to the man who was apparently bragging to the Wesen world about controlling a Grimm.

***

“What exactly do you mean? He caught you?”

The unforgiving tone of Sean Renard’s voice made Adalind’s stomach twist nervously. But she would not let him see that. “The Grimm came into the shop before I had a chance to see what was in the cupboard,” she repeated, annoyed.

“And he saw you.” Cold, hard eyes stared at her. His Royal Highness was not amused. Adalind hesitated.

“Yes.” He could sense her hesitancy. She didn’t like admitting to failure, least of all to her master. One more thing to blame on the Grimm. She’d been so close to slipping this time. He’d angered her before, foiling her plans and subsequently those of her master. Who wasn’t happy with that - or with her. A fact that made for one angry Hexenbiest. She’d nearly pushed him into an oncoming car in her anger. Renard would never have forgiven her that mistake. And all because that Grimm was way too nosey for his own good!

“He recognized you.”

“Yes.” She watched Renard get up and pace over to a window overlooking the city.

“You had one simple task.”

“Yes…” She hesitated.

“And you failed. Worse,” he added, turning back to her. “You let him catch you. And you let him get to you. You tell him who it is you’re working for?”

Another pause. He knew the truth from her look. “Not your name,” she protested, anger boiling deep within her. One look into Renard’s suddenly determined green eyes, however, was enough to temporarily calm her temper.

“He could press charges, there even was a witness.”

He was rubbing it in now. “He won’t.”

“He might just appear in front of his captain, who happens to be me,” Renard snarled, “and request you be brought in for questioning!” His hand hit the window frame, rattling the glass. “And believe me when I say that this time I am not sure I’ll be in the mood to let you out of custody as quickly as last time.”

She winced inwardly. Being in police custody might be useful at times, but not a situation she wanted to be stuck in right now.

Renard, seeing she would not react to his threats, continued. “Well, I am not sure I should trust your talents after this amateurish bumble, but I do have another job for you.”

At that statement a sense of relief flooded her. He still trusted her. He didn’t have a reason to, but then, she hadn’t given him reason to doubt her loyalty. This was all the Grimm’s fault, but she still had a job and she’d still rake in her share of Renard’s success.

“What do you want me to do?”

Renard’s lips witched in faint amusement. “You see, we had to take a woman into protective custody a few days ago,” he explained. “And with her a newborn girl.”

Adalind nodded in understanding. It’d been all over the news. A newborn stolen out of the womb of her murdered mother. She wasn’t privy to all the details, but there was a shopkeeper tied in with all of it somehow. The owner of the shop she’d been sent to break into. She’d never met the woman or the baby, but they were Renard’s business and the Grimm’s.

“What about them? Your officers will be taking good care of them, won’t they?” she asked with a charming smile that drew no reaction from the captain.

“I could use an extra pair of eyes on them.”

“I see.”

He needed a Hexenbiest there. She knew he would have done it himself if he could.

***

Monroe found the warning the next day when he went to open the shop. The large front window was covered from the outside in what looked like soap residue. It was wiped away in places to spell out a clear threat.

_Bring her or ur dead._

The Blutbad didn’t question the captain’s choice to take Rosalee into protective custody after that. Didn’t make him any less nervous.

And it set Nick off once again. He didn’t doubt the competency of his partner and the officer hiding Rosalee and the baby. He just would have felt a lot better if he’d been involved, but the captain had put his foot down on that one.

The problem was that Hank had no idea what they were really up against. And Nick suspected something. The fur they’d found all over the place at the two crime scenes and again stuck to the soapy window belonged to a Hundjäger, judging from the color. He’d never seen one with such a shedding problem though. And he still had no idea what they wanted with the little girl. Why sell her and then try to get her back? Or maybe that was the problem. The dead Skalengeck had gone behind his partner’s back and sold her below market value without sharing the profits. Then the Hundjäger had found out and gone to retrieve her. When they had failed to find the baby or Rosalee he’d simply killed his partner. At least, that story made the most sense to him.

Right now he was probably trying to find out where they were. And being a Hundjäger, he might even be successful.

Nick had to stop him. And where better to start than wherever they were keeping Rosalee.

It was an easy task to get access to the records at the station and find out which hotel had been booked.

Then it was only a short trip to the bed and breakfast in the dark.

The neighborhood was calm as he sat in his car, trying to figure out which room his colleagues would have chosen. Probably one of the rooms facing the backyard.

In the darkness he got out of the car and rounded the building to a small apple orchard. Most of the lights were on in the rooms and he chose a spot between the trees to watch and determine who the occupants were. From the looks of it there wasn’t a single unoccupied room.

After a while, Nick had made out a window where the silhouette of a woman appeared frequently. Possibly Rosalee, but then he couldn’t be sure from that far away.

A noise up in one of the trees made him tense. For a moment he sat in the darkness, eyes still on the lit windows ahead, and listened. It came again, a slight scraping noise on one of the branches directly above him. There was somebody up there and he was not inclined to wait and see who that might be. Whoever was up there must have noticed his arrival.

Nick reached up until he had both hands wrapped around a thick branch. With a jerk he heaved himself up into the tree, scraping off flakes of bark with the leather of his jacket. After that it was speed over stealth. The scraping in the branches above him got louder; whoever was up there was trying to flee further up, with the Grimm in hot pursuit.

Whoever this was, it wasn’t a Hundjäger, he concluded. Those were more the confrontational kind and would not flee, especially from a Grimm, especially with their goal right before their eyes. No, a Hundjäger would have broken into the hotel room as soon as he’d discovered the right one, witnesses be damned. This was somebody trying to avoid discovery.

He went up another branch and found himself on the other side of the surprisingly sturdy tree, before him the rustle of clothes against rough bark. His hand shot out, grabbing onto fabric in the dark, pulling. He hadn’t suspected the female voice that started swearing from above, the slipping boot, and the sudden tumble he took to the ground, loose pant leg still grasped in his hand.

The impact with the hard ground made him grunt in pain, as did the impact of another body on his. Blonde hair tumbled all over his face and he grappled with whoever had fallen on top of him for a few moments, before gaining a secure grip on two struggling wrists.

The prisoner hissed in pain and shook tangled strands of hair from her face. “Damn, Grimm!” Adalind hissed, clearly furious, and pushed away from him. Nick reared back, releasing her wrists and with a fluid movement she stood, leaving him lying on the grass.

“You!” he shouted before remembering to lower his voice.

“And you,” came the answering snort from the Hexenbiest. “Always there to foil our plans and annoy the hell out of me. I never did manage to get rid of the coffee on my coat.”

She reached down to wipe at a grass stain on her blue jeans. Nick thought that this was a very unusual style of clothing for the usually so impeccably dressed lawyer. But then, he guessed, it was the right attire to climb a tree in somebody’s backyard. “Plans again,” he replied, finally shaking off enough of his disorientation to stand before her. “His plans.”

“Quite. And just so you know, he will not be pleased to find you haven’t been following orders. You have no business being here.”

That little barb stung. Nick growled. “Tell me who he is! I haven’t been following any orders, no matter what anybody else believes. I follow orders from only one man.” Usually. And that was his captain.

He started when Adalind threw back her head and gave a mocking laugh. Then she looked right at him, suddenly serious. “Well then, there’s your answer.”

And that answer, as well, was his captain.

***

tbc


	6. A Touch of Wesen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick is not pleased with what he's found out and he lets Renard feel it. But this may be a dangerous mistake.

Thoughts were churning in Renard's head. Things had gotten complicated so fast they were making his head spin. And he believed it was his fault; he had insisted on Adalind being the one to keep an eye on the baby and Rosalee. She was one of the best and yet the Grimm had proved to be better. He'd caught her despite the effort she had assured him she'd put in to hide her presence from him. And now he had been found out, in part due to Adalind's temper.

In addition to that, the captain had been feeling unbalanced for days, ever since his visit to the hospital. He could still feel the phantom touch of a tiny hand closing around his finger. The attack on and subsequent fate of the little girl had rattled him more than he liked to admit even to himself. 

And now he was standing across from Nick Burkhardt in his office, the building around them dark and only occupied by a few officers working late. He could feel the anger radiating off the detective.

He was standing close to the edge of Renard's desk, hands clenched into fists at his sides, cold eyes firmly and unflinchingly fixed on those of his commanding officer.

"It is you." The words were hard and full of barely restrained anger.

"Yes." No use denying it. 

"What games are you playing?" Nick's voice rose.

"I am not playing games." Maybe he was, but they were deadly and serious and definitely anything but fun. And he hadn't been playing with the Grimm.

"Don't deny it!" The detective was shouting now, provoked beyond anger by his captain's outwardly calm denial of what he considered fact.

"Let me explain, I..." he tried to answer, but the snarling Grimm wouldn't let him. 

"I didn't come here for empty words! These manipulations stop now and that is the end of it!" he demanded forcefully. "I will not be anybody's tool."

Grey eyes burned into his like boiling quicksilver and momentarily silenced whatever had been on the tip of Renard's mind. He needed to speak, to explain; it was crucial for the Grimm to understand what he was doing, what was between them.

The Grimm's fury and determination were slithering into the captain's mind like living things, tying his tongue for just a second too long and suddenly there was a look of quiet satisfaction on Nick's face. "I will hear no more of this royal business." With that the Grimm turned and left his office. 

Calm composure momentarily forgotten, Renard shot out from behind his desk and went after the retreating form of his detective, his Grimm.

"Nick, we need to talk," he ground out, urgency clearly audible. But Nick's timing worked to the younger man's advantage. The moment he was out the door several members of the cleaning staff made an appearance armed with vacuums, and on top of everything his phone began to ring. For a moment he considered following Nick, but one look at the phone's display convinced him otherwise. It was a secure number, used by his men to contact the precinct in protective custody cases. He had to take this.

***

Nick's satisfaction didn't last long. His momentary victory made him question whether Renard would really leave him and his Grimm business alone in the future. He'd expected more of a fight and when that hadn't come he'd left. Maybe he'd left too early. Maybe he should have threatened the other man. But that wasn't his style. And the more time he had to think about it, the surer he was that this wasn’t the last he'd heard of the matter.

Renard was a politician and had a way with words. He'd wanted to explain himself to Nick and had been adamant the Grimm listen. Only Nick hadn't had the mind to do so. Now every time he came across the captain he had the impression the other man meant to talk to him about the whole matter, if only the right moment presented itself. But the Grimm still wasn't in the mood for discussions and he brushed the other man off more than once.

He suddenly found himself evading orders his captain gave him at work. He purposely handed reports in late, gave tasks he was supposed to do to Hank and took over his partner’s work. Renard didn't seem to notice at first, which annoyed the detective greatly. So Nick started pushing.

People noticed. He didn't defy Renard to his face or in front of others, didn't talk back to him, but his co-workers started to wonder and comment on his behavior when he was out of earshot. He still heard. Hank said nothing, though Nick did receive a raised eyebrow or two on occasion.

Then Rosalee discovered a man spying on her from the tree line at the Bed and Breakfast. Under normal circumstances, Nick wouldn't even have heard about it, but he was in the captain's office when the call came. And judging from the barely-there flicker of alarm in the captain's eyes the spy wasn’t one of his people.

He and Hank were called to an accident at about the same time a team of officers went to the scene to scope out the perimeter before accompanying the Fuchsbau and the little girl to another location. 

Nick needed to go. The officers had no idea what they were up against. He did, but the captain had told him in no uncertain terms to stay away.

There was no time to argue and their case would have sent him and Hank in the opposite direction of the hotel. At the last moment he managed to switch places with Wu. 

***

After that, everything went to hell. Renard had been held up by a call from the mayor and instead of going with his men to secure a new safe location he'd been stuck in a meeting for over an hour. At first the fact that Nick was safely out of harm's way investigating a hit and run at the other end of the city had calmed him somewhat, until a sudden feeling of unease had risen inside him. He'd rudely cut the meeting short and hurried back to his office, where bad news had already been waiting in the form of a call for backup. 

They'd tried to get the move to a small apartment building over with, making as little fuss as possible so as to not draw any attention. Unfortunately they'd taken Nick along, and he had been able to detect the Hundjäger watching them right away, as Renard later found out. The Grimm had gone off in pursuit on his own. He hadn't thought that the Hundjäger might have brought backup. What had only been a scouting mission for the predators had turned into a hunt the moment they’d discovered the Grimm.

Despite the progress he'd already made, Nick was in over his head with Hundjäger out to kill him.

And now Renard was busy rustling up men to chase several suspects and one insubordinate officer through the darkening forest, not knowing what was waiting there and for the first time in a long while afraid of what he'd find. There was too much at stake for him personally.

He hurried to his car, three officers with him. Sirens and flashing lights accompanied their frenzied drive. 

He could smell the blood as soon as he got out of the car. Nick's blood. Renard felt the Biest within him react to it, felt the oncoming woge. He wanted to run and chase, to find Nick and the ones who had dared to hurt what was his. A quick shake of his head cleared his thoughts somewhat so he could maintain the collected calm he usually displayed. Hank was standing to one side of the parking lot conveniently bordering on the forest, already busy instructing the new arrivals.

Once he had collected his rifle from the trunk Renard went over to assess the situation. There was no way he would stay out of this hunt. But first he had to make sure Rosalee and the baby were safe. His duties as captain came first, even though every instinct he had screamed at him to waste no time.

Renard quickly spoke to his detective, but they were soon interrupted by shouting coming from beyond the tree line. Both men turned toward the commotion. The smell of blood grew stronger, making Renard’s hackles rise. One of the officers emerging from the darkness was covered in it, leaning on his colleague who was clutching a cell phone to his ear.

"We found Burkhardt," the blood-covered officer shouted, limping towards them with considerable speed. “One of the perps attacked him with a knife or something. He's bleeding from a stab wound to the neck."

"Ambulance is on the way," his partner added, putting away the phone. "We can't move him, but he's conscious. Felton's still with him, putting pressure on the wound. Perp got away."

"You hurt, Benjamin?" Renard asked coolly, inner turmoil just barely under control.

The officer nodded and looked down at his leg. "Found one of them fighting Nick and tried to shake him off. I didn't see the weapon, it was pretty dark, but he must have had something in his hand because he kinda stabbed me in the leg after he got Nick."

It was all Renard could do not to roll his eyes in frustration. The common sense his men usually exhibited seemed to have taken a lengthy vacation. At least this officer endangering himself had evidently saved Nick's life.

"The other suspects?" he inquired.

"Gone. We'll get some dogs out there."

He nodded and turned away, shouldering the rifle. "Get the EMTs out there as soon as they get here. I want the whole area monitored till we can find another safe house."

With that he took carefully measured steps toward the forest. He didn't need a guide. He had to check on the injured officer.

Nick was lying on the ground, another officer kneeling next to him, hands pressed to the bleeding wound on his neck. 

The smell of blood, cloyingly sweet, was starting to overwhelm Renard’s senses. He could see tiny red drops of it clinging to tree branches where the Grimm had fought with the Hundjäger. He could hear the thick liquid, loud as a waterfall, as it trickled over too pale skin.

In other circumstances the Zauberbiest within him would have drunk deeply from these sensations, reveled in the carnage at his feet, would have demanded more, demanded to be let out, demanded death. But not this time. Not when the injured man lying on the ground bleeding all over the forest floor was his mate.

Nick was not moving; his clothes were torn to shreds by viciously sharp claws. The Grimm’s right hand lay at his side at an unnatural angle and his hair was matted with blood and dirt. 

He went towards the two men and knelt down by Nick’s side. "Keep up the pressure," he instructed the other officer, who was looking a bit green around the edges, no doubt from the sight of so much blood. 

The Zauberbiest’s hands were itching with the need to touch, to help ease the injured man's suffering and stop the bleeding.

He could. He hadn't been able to for a long time, a curse that came with being born a hybrid. But with his mate by his side, him being the one injured, he could do what he had never managed before. Hits mate would make him so much stronger and help him come into his full potential. 

The captain’s hand sought out Nick's wrist under the guise of checking for a pulse. "Hold on, help is on the way," he soothed in a calm voice, pouring his energy into the other man through the small bit of skin he could touch, not letting go for several minutes.

Then, for a brief second the Grimm’s gray eyes opened and focused, shining with sudden realization, and in that moment he couldn't hold back the woge, too much sudden power and worry coursing through his veins.

Nick saw and he understood. 

***

All he could feel was the cold seeping through his jacket from the damp ground. How stupid to think about how he shouldn’t have postponed unpacking his winter clothes when he lay dying beneath a dark canopy of trees. Now he would have to unpack them after all. The leather jacket was ruined. His throat was warm though. Liquid heat trickled down his neck and over his chin. Somebody was pressing a hand against his jugular, nearly choking him.

The second and third Hundjäger had taken him by surprise, a rookie mistake he was now paying for. Wait for backup, don’t pursue on your own. Listen to what your captain tells you.

His head was swimming and Nick wasn’t sure whether it was from the awkward position of his head or the hand crushing his windpipe. The forest was dark around him and getting darker by the minute. No use in opening his eyes; that simply took too much effort. Every breath was harder than the last and he could feel his heart beat frantically against his ribs as if he’d been running for hours. Weariness pulled at his strained muscles, the corners of his mouth, his eyelids.

A flicker at the edge of his consciousness drew him back into alertness. Something moved, he could hear it, and then there was a strong and steady hand holding his, stroking over the pulse point. Tiny sparks traveled up Nick’s body from the point of contact, a source of warmth in a world that was growing colder by the minute. It took a few moments, but suddenly he was able to open his eyes.

Leaning over him was Captain Renard, looking right at him; his face, usually void of emotion, was now full of worry and for a second Nick wondered what the captain could be worried about when finally the cold was leaving and the air around him suddenly felt as warm as spring sunshine. Nick’s next labored breath even brought a scent: a hint of gunpowder and freshly cut grass.

Then the captain’s face changed and he might just have missed it, had the change not been accompanied by the sudden reviving shock of energy that coursed through his body from where Renard was still holding onto his wrist.

Nick’s eyes widened in recognition. The captain was Wesen, a Hexenbiest if he was not mistaken, though he didn’t look like any of the others he’d come across so far. For a moment he wondered when his head had cleared enough to restart his brain functions once more. That thought was quickly chased by a brief flash of panic. A Hexenbiest was leaning over him and in his current state the Grimm was unable to defend himself, or even lift his hand for that matter, though he did struggle briefly against the unfamiliar touch.

Another spark of warmth and energy traveled through Nick’s veins, settling in his chest, slowing down his heartbeat just a little, and he wondered how that was even possible. Maybe he was dying after all, but that didn’t explain the sudden clarity in his mind. The next breath seemed to fill his tired lungs completely. It was Renard’s doing. “You…,” he breathed, eyes fixed unwaveringly on those of his captain.

Renard leaned over him, blocking the other officer’s face from Nick’s view. “We need to talk.” The words were nothing more than a whisper. The only answer he could give was a nod.

In the distance he could hear a dog bark.

Then there was movement at the corner of his vision and Renard’s hand left his, taking with it the warmth and electric current that had kept him awake and strangely alert. The captain stepped aside and Nick could feel a fresh rush of blood down his neck. The wooziness was back, the trees resumed dancing in circles, illuminated by flashing lights against the black night sky.

Nick’s consciousness gave out just as an EMT leaned over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very exciting chapter I very much enjoyed writing. Hope you enjoyed reading. Thanks again for all the encouraging comments!


	7. Bedside Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Nick in hospital Monroe is upset. Renard is not pleased to be found at the injured detective's side.

Monroe hadn't expected a call and started when his phone suddenly began to vibrate right next to his elbow. The number was unfamiliar and he considered just letting it go to voicemail, being busy with long overdue clock repairs, but he dropped his pincers and answered anyway.

"Monroe, it's Rosalee," the Fuchsbau's agitated voice came over the line, drawing a sound of surprise from him. 

"What's wrong?" he immediately asked. "Did they let you out of custody?" Under normal circumstances, talking to her would have pleased him greatly but not when she was supposed to be in seclusion for her own protection. 

"No, Monroe, listen. They had to move us; I saw somebody watching through the window," she started her explanation.

"What?" Monroe interrupted, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice. "Where are you? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm not supposed to be on the phone or tell you where we are, but something went wrong."

"What? Hold on, where is Hank?"

"Outside, he..."

"What is he doing outside?" Monroe interrupted again, none too pleased that the detective had abandoned his post by Rosalee's side. "I'm calling Nick."

The Fuchsbau's frustrated groan made him wince. "That's the problem! Nick was here. He went after them, from what I could gather from Hank's backup call."

Thank the stars for sensitive Fuchsbau ears, Monroe thought. At least now he knew why Nick hadn't come home yet. 

“He went after who? Wait, are those sirens I hear?" he suddenly called out in alarm.

"Yes," Rosalee confirmed in a defeated voice. "I don't know what happened. They won't tell me anything, but the captain arrived with backup and an ambulance and now everybody is running around outside. There's Hank. I've got to go."

She hung up before Monroe had the chance to even say goodbye.

Rosalee hadn't said who it was that had gotten hurt, but Monroe could make a pretty good guess. At least Rosalee was fine. 

Without even thinking about it Monroe left the evening's work behind and went to start up the car. St. Joseph's it was.

Once there, it wasn't difficult for the Blutbad to determine the whereabouts of whoever had been injured. He simply looked for a congregation of officers. They would either be guarding a suspect or waiting for news on an injured colleague. He found them standing in front of a room in the ICU. Judging by their number, it was likely a colleague. It wasn't difficult to guess which one.

He sat down in one of the red plastic chairs, far enough away for them not to notice him immediately but close enough to listen in on their conversation with his wolf hearing. The hospital fumes made it difficult to smell Nick and assess the gravity of his injuries, but from the expressions on the officers' faces Monroe could guess how bad the Grimm's condition was.

An officer told the others about the attacker who had wounded Detective Burkhardt with a knife, grazing his carotid artery. The wound had bled copiously, Nick falling unconscious within minutes. Strangely, he said, the captain had been able to rouse the unconscious man for a moment or two just before the ambulance had arrived.

Monroe listened to all of this and watched out of the corner of his eye, knee jiggling.

A door opening at the end of the corridor drew his attention and a moment later Captain Renard strode by his chair without even looking at him.

“Alright everybody, I just spoke to the head nurse. Nick’s gonna be in surgery a while longer, but it looks promising,” he explained to the men who had gathered around him and now breathed a collective sigh of relief. “No use in waiting around right now, but any of you wanting to donate blood can go over to the nurses’ station. They’ll sort you out there, and then you’re to head home and get some rest.”

The captain seemed to know how to keep his men in line and make them feel like they were at least doing something. Monroe’s guess was that this wasn’t the first time any of them had been inside a hospital to be at an injured colleague’s side. It wasn’t the first time they gave their blood either, judging from their reactions, and the gesture would be greatly appreciated by the hospital staff. Most of them gathered and went into the direction Renard had pointed them while some others headed home, leaving the captain alone in front of the room.

The Blutbad debated leaving as well, fearing discovery once the observant captain noticed that he wasn’t here for anybody else, but then reconsidered. The captain hadn’t left with his men for some reason. He didn’t pay the Blutbad any heed though, just stood outside the glass walls of the empty ICU room.

Monroe was worried. He wasn’t sure a successful surgery should take this long. Maybe there had been complications the captain hadn’t wanted to relay to his men just yet. Only a few minutes later, however, a door at the other end of the corridor opened, making Renard look up. The surgical team wheeled a bed down the corridor, heading past the captain and into the empty room.

Soon he could hear monitors being hooked up, IVs installed, the patient made comfortable. Renard hurriedly spoke to the accompanying surgeon, though Monroe wasn’t able to discern any of their conversation for some reason. He should have been able to. But from the look on Renard’s face things with Nick indeed weren’t as bad as he’d feared. Then it hit him. The captain had lied to his men, had wanted to get them to leave.

The doctor and nurses soon left with Renard still standing by the door and Monroe detected the man’s gaze briefly flickering in his direction. Time to go. He’d come to find out what he had wanted to, or at least that’s what he would have the captain think. A few more minutes went by until Monroe reached for his phone, seemingly to read a silent text; then he stood up and turned away. As the door swung shut behind him, he stopped and turned. The door swung back, revealing an empty corridor. Renard had gone in.

***

For a moment he paused at the foot of the bed. Nick Burkhardt lay between white sheets, his skin tone a pasty gray in comparison. Blood loss did that to you. From what the doctor had said Nick had gotten off lightly. Fortunately, Felton had had some first aid training recently and known where exactly to apply pressure to keep the gash to Nick’s neck from bleeding freely. And Renard had been able to help.

Movement from the unconscious man drew Renard’s gaze toward his face. He shouldn’t be moving yet. According to the doctor, Detective Burkhardt had several broken bones in his hand in addition to his neck injury. Some deep scratches decorated his skin, as if he’d fought with a wildcat. The anesthetics should keep him under for the night.

The captain shrugged out of his coat, laying it across the foot of Nick’s bed, and stepped closer to his side, senses reaching out in every direction to find that there wasn’t a soul around. He stepped closer, reaching down, touching the uninjured wrist that lay forlornly on top of the covers. Mindful of the IV catheter he wound his fingers around the strong wrist, fingers pressed against Nick’s pulse point. He could feel a slight tremor from the unconscious man and wondered if the detective’s body remembered similar sensations from those brief moments they had been connected in the woods.

Nick’s heartbeat calmed almost unnoticeably.

Renard kept the light contact up for several moments, allowing himself for the first time to enjoy the slowly warming skin and faintly beating pulse against his fingertips.

The skin was still much too pale for his liking, a striking contrast to his own coloring. An urge grew inside him to touch more than just the small patch of skin, to caress the smooth chest just visible beneath the sheet, the firm muscles of Nick's arms, his cheeks, and a lot more. Renard let his eyes fall closed. He would not let himself have any more than this. And yet the longing was there, burning inside him with an intensity he had never believed possible.

Renard could feel it come over him like a wave, a nervous twitch of his jaw the first sign of the oncoming Woge, the second in one day he had no control over. Skin began to rearrange itself, pulling against muscle and flesh. His sight flickered when the left eye changed and cracked lips broke open to reveal what lay underneath. The shift had always been rather painful for him, as it was for all hybrids, but not this time. This time his skin didn’t feel too small, it fit perfectly, like it was finally made for him.

He let his feelings control him for barely a second before the Woge evened once again into the smooth face the outside world saw every day. A ragged breath escaped him and he let his hand fall away completely, not giving into the temptation of more contact, more warmth, just more.

A sound coming from the open door made Renard tense. He looked up and found the Blutbad standing just beyond the glass, watching.

The Zauberbiest hadn't noticed his silent but not noiseless approach; he'd been too careless, too engrossed in his mate.

Monroe stepped out from behind the window, never taking his eyes off of him. He wore an expression of calm curiosity, his posture straight but not threatening.

"I can see it in the way you woge. You're a hybrid," Monroe began. "Half Zauberbiest.”

"And doesn't that sound so much more flattering than royal bastard," the captain asked, not bothering to keep the sharp edge of displeasure and bitterness out of his voice. He didn't have the stomach for games or diplomacy tonight.

He moved away from the bed, positioning himself between Nick and the Blutbad. "What do you want?"

Monroe took a step back, out of his personal space, and raised his hands. "Dude, relax. I'm just here to check on him. I'm his roommate.” He nodded toward Nick. “I was just worried when he didn’t come home.”

Renard's eyes narrowed involuntarily. "I know who you are. You know too much, Blutbad." It wasn't his usual style to be this suspicious of other Wesen, but this night had brought it out in him. 

"I know enough. Are you gonna tell him?" A hard stare accompanied Monroe's words. "He deserves to know."

Know what, he was tempted to ask, but there was no use in denying what it was Nick was supposed to know. For so long he had managed to keep his true nature hidden and just now, when he’d finally found his strength after nearly giving up hope, a Blutbad had discovered what he was. And that made him a danger for Renard as long as Nick didn't know the truth, as long as they hadn't accepted one another.

The Blutbad didn't seem inclined to let Renard finish his musings and started to speak once more. "Don't get me wrong, this isn't about you. It's about him. I have no intention of selling your inner organs to that Hundjäger,” he added.

The last comment made the beast inside Renard roar. He took two steps forward that were menacing enough to send lesser men and most of his subordinates running, but Monroe wouldn't budge. How he managed to keep the Blutbad from breaking free when Renard himself was so close to fury, Renard didn't know, but all Monroe projected was calm confidence and maybe a faint hint of amusement. How much of it was sincere and how much an act was anyone’s guess. Nick had a worthy companion in him, Renard would grudgingly admit that, but he hated that fact right now.

Monroe was still waiting for an answer, an answer Renard was unwilling to give. Didn’t he see the the obvious? Now that somebody knew, now that others could find out, could see, and could decide to hunt him down for Zaubertrank ingredients, now he didn’t have any other choice than to tell Nick. He needed the other man to be able to tap into his full potential.

“Will you tell him everything?”

He’d never planned on revealing himself fully, even to his mate. A closer relationship would have been enough for the hybrid in him to blossom. There was no need for Nick to know just what kind of hybrid he was. For Nick it would have been enough to know they were fighting on the same side. The Blutbad had taken the choice from him.

“Yes.”

Monroe nodded. “That is all I want. For his sake.”

“Once he knows he might not accept me at all.”

“That’s his choice to make.”

***

tbc


	8. Half Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick is in hospital seriously injured, but there is too much to do for him to stay. Time for somebody to make him listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so much fun to write! Hope you're enjoying my little story despite the slow progress between the Captain and the Grimm. Kinda love making them wait a little, though ;)

When Nick came to it was not a slow process. He was awake at once and couldn't remember waking before, couldn't remember the usual fight against chemicals keeping his mind under. The pain was there, lots of it, bursting behind his eyelids in bright flashes as if the nurse had forgotten to give him his dose of the good stuff. He even remembered where he was almost at once. Not so much how he'd gotten here though.

He'd been in hot pursuit of a Hundjäger who had been watching Rosalee's move to a new location, the one with a serious shedding problem. In hindsight he had been pretty stupid to defy the captain and switch places with Wu. But it wouldn't have felt right to stay away when one of his friends was in danger and his colleagues left with no idea what they were up against.

Maybe he should have waited for backup like he'd been taught as a rookie, but then what chance did a Hundjäger have against a Grimm? He'd taken one down before. Only the Hundjäger hadn't been alone and he had been Verrat.

The memory made Nick twitch and then gasp out in pain from the sudden movement. He needed to tell Monroe, needed backup, a plan. The case was a lot more complex than they'd been able to see. The murder and subsequent abduction of the little girl was just the tip of the iceberg. A royal was involved. The matter was also much more dangerous than the officers guarding Rosalee could know, he realized. Maybe the royal in question was Renard.

A groan escaped his lips. Monroe needed to know. He struggled, trying to untangle the tubes all around him and get into a somewhat more upright position. He needed a phone, needed to warn them, needed to find out if his captain had anything to do with the hybrids being abducted all over the country, from what he'd gathered from the brief shouted exchange with the Hundjäger.

The dizzy feeling wouldn't go away and Nick angrily shook his head to clear it, unfortunately with the opposite effect. His neck was heavily bandaged, every movement shot burning flames through his veins, and he couldn't seem to coordinate his fingers well enough to get rid of the IV.

Maybe Renard was involved. They might be working for the captain, the royal in Portland, and he might have been trying to keep Nick out of the investigation on purpose, sending him to the other end of the city for the move. The Hundjäger might have gotten the tip from him and would have gotten the girl back without Renard's direct involvement. The more he thought about it the more Nick was convinced the captain was behind the sudden move to a new location, behind the watcher, and behind the attack on him. 

Again he tried to grasp the needle in a desperate attempt to rip it from his skin and be free, but it was securely fixed and all his injured fingers did was claw uselessly at his wrist and cause even more pain.

A memory resurfaced when his fingers touched his pulse point, very faint, of the cold ground beneath him, warm blood streaming down his neck, somebody's hand pressing against the wound and an even warmer and secure grip around his wrist, anchoring him. At first Nick was not inclined to believe the memory that was somehow mixed with the green eyes of his captain gazing into his own. Maybe the captain had tried to kill the Grimm, once he'd discovered Nick's involvement that would surely ruin all his plans. 

Then he remembered a similar sensation later, just out of reach of his consciousness. A warm bed, the beeping of a heart monitor and nobody else around, just the pressure around his wrist, steady and stable and reaching into him, calming him. And the smell that had risen from warm skin, a smell like gunpowder and blood. The other man hadn't killed him then, he had never meant to. Nick didn't know why. He ceased his painful and futile struggle against cables and tubes just as a nurse rushed into his room. 

"We need to talk." The words came back to him. 

They would. For now, he let them put him back to sleep and far away from the pain and the memories.

***

The next time Nick woke he wasn't alone. This time he struggled longer to find his way back through the heavy sedation. His body still hurt, but now he could make out individual flares of pain, the most prominent ones radiating from his neck and hand. A monitor was still beeping by his bedside but there were fewer tubes and wires connected to his body. A hoarse groan emerged from his throat and drew an answering noise from across the room.

"Look, the prodigal Grimm is awake." Monroe's relieved voice cut through the rhythmic beeping and he tried to turn his head in his direction. A few seconds later his friend's head appeared in Nick's line of vision. "Don't move. The last time you did they had to redo nearly all of your stitches. And you were lucky there wasn't more damage, considering they had to glue you back together after you nearly bled to death from a shredded vein."

The Blutbad's last words held anger, only Nick couldn't quite pinpoint what he was angry at. He coughed a couple of times through a dry and scratchy throat, upsetting the stitches in his neck, which made arrows of pain shoot to his head. A cup with a straw was held to his lips and he greedily drank down the blessedly cool water until Monroe pulled it away. "That's enough. They just extubated you."

The information took a while to reach the rational part of Nick's brain. He was hurt, he'd nearly bled to death, if he could believe his friend's words, and the captain had been here. That last part he knew with a certainty that should have been impossible to achieve in his condition.

With a rush, memories flooded back into him, of what he had to tell Monroe, about the case and about Renard. Rosalee needed to be kept safe, the baby as well, and he needed to speak with the captain. 

"I'm not exactly pleased with you at the moment," Monroe spoke just as Nick had cleared his throat. "Going off like that when you could have let your colleagues handle the whole thing."

"You don't understand! They were Hundjäger and Verrat," Nick protested, "It's a whole ring kidnapping and trafficking hybrid Wesen. They wouldn’t have known how to handle them.” Words tumbled out of his mouth, nearly too fast for his still sluggish brain to keep up. “They would’ve killed all of them and Rosalee and then taken the baby.”

Monroe’s gaze turned more worried by the second and as soon as the agitated Grimm drew a ragged breath through his still dry throat, he used his chance to interrupt. “Nick, calm down.” He held out the cup again and made Nick drink more water. “You can’t be sure that they would have attacked. You just assumed and went off without thinking or speaking to anybody or even listening to your superior officer!” That last statement came out harsher than he’d intended to, from the sudden look of contrition in his eyes.

Nick spit out the straw. “Superior officer?! You know as well as I do what he is, Monroe! He’s a royal and he’s involved in this somehow.”

“Yes, but not in the way you imagine.”

“What?”

Monroe placed the now empty cup back on the side table and turned toward Nick once more. “I was here when you came out of surgery. So was he.”

“He was there?” Nick asked, incredulous. “What…”

“You’ll have to talk about that with him,” was the only answer he got on that matter and the way the Blutbad’s shoulders were pulled up nearly to his ears made it clear that the topic wasn’t up for discussion.

“I would if he were here.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll come.”

Nick rolled his eyes in frustration. “Yeah, because he’s out to kill me!”

That blatant exaggeration of the situation drew an almost amused smile from Monroe. “You and I both know that is not what he has in mind.” He got up to leave.

“Monroe, aren’t you staying?” Nick’s gaze followed the Blutbad who was shrugging on his jacket.

“Can’t. I have a shop to open and clocks to repair.” He paused in the door for a minute. “Oh and while I’m at it, don’t forget that the captain doesn’t have cogs and wheels for insides.” And with that he left a puzzled and very much exhausted Grimm behind.

***

Hours went past and nobody came. Nick dozed off occasionally but he made himself jerk back to wakefulness at the slightest noise from the hallway. The nurse checking on him periodically wasn't too happy with his reactions to her presence and threatened him with more sedatives should he not allow his body to finally rest naturally. At night they put him under despite his protests.

The next day found Hank at his bedside for a brief visit. The whole precinct was currently hunting a mass murderer who had killed three people in as many days. Nick resented not being able to help his colleagues, but as Hank pointed out, it was his own fault. His partner was pissed at Nick for not following orders, in part due to the fact that the captain had pulled him off the case now as well.

The captain was busy handling investigations, even going out into the field himself, since they all feared a hostage situation. Hank didn't provide details and Nick didn't ask. He tried to tell himself he wasn't interested. Hank left Nick after a few minutes with a mental image of Renard out in the street, wearing his expensive coat and a bulletproof vest underneath, rifle slung over his shoulder.

He didn't rest any easier after that.

On the third day he developed a slight fever from several inflamed stitches, so Nick wasn't too sure whether he remembered correctly that Juliette had come over to bring him another pillow and some clothes. The pillow was there though, and Monroe told him on his next visit he hadn't been the one who’d brought it.

When the feverish haze lifted a little the next day, Nick surmised that Renard wouldn't come. All the better. He was in no mood to listen to the man and his half-baked lies. He wasn't interested anymore. The Grimm would take care of the hybrid trafficking ring, police procedures be damned, and everything would go back to normal.

Best start right away and get things over with, he thought while swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Immediately a wave of dizziness overcame him and he gripped the edge of the bed tightly. He shook his head to clear it, which caused ripples of pain to travel from his neck into his arm, leaving it almost numb.

Should stop making these stupid movements. He was maxed out on pain medication and the nurse had threatened him again. No more pain meds till tonight. He didn't need them, he'd told her, but right now he wished for a button to press for instant oblivion.

Instead he gritted his teeth and put his feet on the floor, then reached for the pair of sweats Juliette had brought. He had no intention of leaving, but he had to make some calls. His cell phone was nowhere to be found and Monroe had told him the signal would confuse the ICU equipment anyway.

Getting his feet through the pant legs without bending down proved more difficult than he'd anticipated. Nick simply couldn't manage it. The thin hospital gown got in the way and he tangled with it for a few moments until he was nearly exhausted. And how embarrassing was that. Sitting at the very edge of the bed he couldn't even get his arms to pull his legs back onto the bed.

He ended up lying across the bed, legs still dangling off one side, leaving his neck at an awkward angle that pulled uncomfortably at the stitches.

For a moment he contemplated trying to move himself, closing his eyes against the burning pain, but his muscles didn't seem to want to cooperate. Before he was able to call for help, however, a strong, gentle hand was lifting up his head from its awkward position.

"No need to go looking for another confrontation just yet," Renard's even voice reached him through the pain. "Let it come to you for once.”

Nick groaned when capable hands lifted his head and legs to deposit them back on the bed. It hurt. He gritted his teeth and cursed the stubbornness he seemed to have developed lately. This was not how he'd envisioned the captain's visit. But despite the teasing nature of the words, Renard's voice was tinged with what sounded a lot like worry.

He opened his eyes and lifted a weak hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

"I'm fine."

"Very well."

No sarcasm, no ridicule. Not the answer he had expected.

"I can feel your pain." He hadn't expected that either. The Grimm looked up sharply. 

With an unsteady hand he reached out for his cup and thirstily emptied its contents while he watched Renard pull up the visitor chair and fold his tall frame into the uncomfortable plastic seat with simple grace. When he had found a measure of composure again, Nick put the cup down and met Renard's eyes. It was time for rational thinking. He'd let himself be guided by too much emotion lately and the pain wasn't helping, but he would try. He was too tired to keep up the fight. 

"That's a strange statement coming from a usually so rational person as yourself, captain."

"But it's the truth."

"What do you mean?" The Grimm would no longer assume, he promised himself. He would ask and hear the man out. Everything else seemed to only add to his discomfort.

"Maybe I should start at the beginning," Renard sighed, closing his eyes, and Nick got the impression he'd never intended to do that. "I should start with who I am."

Nick's curiosity grew. He wanted to know, yet he hadn't expected the captain to give up the information easily.

"First off, I am still your superior officer," he began and Nick wanted to groan. He should have known this was coming.

"Yes."

"And I will not tolerate insubordinate behavior again."

Nick nodded. "You will have my badge?" His hand automatically wandered to the place where he usually carried his shield at his belt, the spot now empty. 

The captain shook his head. "No. Not this time, though I probably should. I hope you will come to understand that I had my reasons besides your personal involvement to keep you off the case. I do not make decisions like that lightly."

"I had to be there, even if it cost my badge. I had to protect my friend, and all of you had no idea what this is all about, what you're up against."

"You think so?" The captain's voice held a faint hint of amusement. "You've got that backwards. It is you who has no idea what this is all about."

Nick forced himself to remain calm. Shouting at his captain wouldn't get him any answers, only even more of a headache. He leaned his head back against the pillow and sighed. "You know about the little girl?"

"That she's a hybrid? Yes. Why else would anybody sell her to the Wesen owner of a tea and spice shop?"

"You knew?" He had. The whole time. And he had played Nick. 

"You want her for yourself then." The Grimm's hands clenched involuntarily and sent a shock of pain through his arm that made him gasp. Renard sucked in a breath.

"No. I have no use for her. I want her safe, same as you.”

Nick looked up through his lashes, rubbing his arm. He didn't believe one word his captain said. He was a royal and much more. 

"You are a Zauberbiest. You do have a use for her."

Renard shook his head. "A use maybe, but no intention of harming her, ever. For very personal reasons. One of which is that me being a Zauberbiest is only half the truth." Nick watched a small smile steal over his face. "Quite literally half. Look."

And he woged. 

***

tbc


	9. Touching Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick gets some answers and in turn lends his Captain a hand with a couple of recipes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit longer. And I'm really smug about it :D So much fun to work with Renard's emotions.

Renard had left Nick with more questions than answers. There was so much he wanted to ask, a thousand thoughts he couldn’t finish, and confusion.

He healed rapidly. After only a few days the pain had lessened so much the doctor had taken him off the pain medication completely and even stopped the antibiotics when Nick’s body didn’t show the slightest sign of infection even though he had ripped his stitches once. He even took the stitches out, once they were beginning to pull uncomfortably at the healing skin.

For Nick that meant he would be allowed to leave the hospital much earlier than anticipated, a fact that he was infinitely grateful for. He was a bad patient and fiercely hated being laid up and being dependent on others.

He was also looking forward to going home. The hospital was no place to talk about Grimms and Wesen, with hospital staff constantly wandering through and by his room or his colleagues and Juliette visiting. Also there was the boredom. At first the injured detective had slept away his days, but soon had Monroe bring him books and newspapers. The Blutbad had drawn the line at getting him books from the trailer, though Nick had tried his best to persuade him. There were simply too many things he wanted to know, preferably now, and hoped to find the answers to in the old volumes.

What had him worried was that it had been decided to end Rosalee’s protective custody. Renard had taken a lot of flak for his decision to put her in protective custody in the first place and had had to relent in the end. So Rosalee was back with a police car parked in front of the shop or her house day and night. That didn’t do much to ease Nick and Monroe’s minds and the Blutbad had all but moved in with the Fuchsbau. To Nick’s great amusement, Monroe didn’t seem to mind all that much and neither did Rosalee apparently.

Rosalee also came to visit but refused to talk to Nick about hybrids or potions or anything Wesen-related, even during the few minutes they were left alone. She was worried about the baby.

She had named the little girl Frieda, after her beloved grandmother. Neither Monroe nor Rosalee had any idea where they’d taken her after the fiasco at the hotel and Hank wouldn’t tell him, putting his foot down. Nick was not to be involved in the case, for all their safeties, and Hank was not going to risk his job again. Nick actually understood, but it didn’t ease his mind in the least.

The captain didn’t visit again. From what Hank told him, the serial killer had wreaked havoc all over the city and these days Renard was the first at the precinct and the last to leave, usually long after midnight, busy with scheduling, patrolling, dealing with the press and reassuring the mayor. During these talks Nick resented being laid up even more. Hank just laughed at him and told him to let that be a lesson for the next time he thought about being reckless and stupid.

It was the hardest thing Nick had ever done to keep himself from dialing Renard’s number as soon as he got his phone back. But the man was busy, probably overworked and under a lot of pressure. Nick would not add to that.

To say that Nick was frustrated would have been an understatement. He paced the perimeter of the hospital room as soon as he was allowed up and would have branched out into the corridor, had the hospital staff not threatened with cuffing him to the bed should he get in their way one more time.

So the day he was finally allowed to leave – after only about half the time such injuries usually took to heal, his doctor informed him with a puzzled frown – Nick didn’t wait for Monroe to come get him. He would have taken a taxi, had he had any money on him, but instead decided to walk home. Monroe wasn’t pleased to find him gone from the hospital, the only thing left behind a sports bag with Nick’s clothes to take home. The Blutbad sulked for a few hours until Nick promised to take him along to the trailer for the whole weekend. 

Nick felt great. He went to get a physical evaluation and was cleared for active duty immediately, much to the astonishment of his physician.

The weekend was spent freezing at the trailer, with Monroe going through every nook and cranny, finding things Nick had never seen before, discovering drawers where there weren’t supposed to be any, most stuffed full of old scraps of papers or ripped-out pages filled with minuscule writing that neither of them was able to decipher, but the Blutbad tried anyway.

Much to his disappointment, the Grimm wasn’t able to find anything on hybrids that he didn’t already know. There was almost nothing beyond Wesen genetics other than what Monroe had been able to tell him, no matter how many of the obscure texts he browsed through. Eventually, they both gave up their fruitless efforts and went home to spend Nick’s last free evening watching movies and eating take-out.

Monday morning arrived with good news. The mass murderer case had broken. The man who had supposedly killed more than seven people in ten days had finally made a mistake and run right into the trap Renard and his officers had been busy setting up for days.

Now nearly all officers that had been working on the case had gotten two days off to recover from the nearly seventy-two-hour shift they’d put in, leaving the precinct more quiet than usual. To Nick it felt almost empty. At least he didn’t have to endure as many concerned questions as he’d feared.

The only downside was that the captain had taken off as well. Nick wanted to scream with frustration. He didn’t. He also didn’t call. The man deserved his rest, which, according to Hank, he sorely needed.

So Nick was quite surprised when he discovered a text from Renard on his phone after lunch.

Spice shop, after work.

Neutral ground. They would talk.

On his way to the shop Nick passed the police car parked just outside the door. He nodded to his colleague and briefly wondered if Renard would take the front door. Might make the officer wonder what his colleague and their captain were doing meeting in a shop for exotic spices and teas with a witness inside on the captain’s day off.

He was a little early and was eagerly greeted by Rosalee, who was covered in dust from head to toe from her weekly cleaning session. It looked like even during her short absence the dust had built up everywhere.

“It’s good to see you.” She smiled. “I prepared some things in the back room for you.”

“What things? You didn’t even know I was coming, did you?” Nick asked, puzzled.

“The captain called ahead and asked if you could use the back room for a few hours.” She eyed the brown paper bag Nick had brought. “Though you better not eat your dinner in there; the crumbs might contaminate some of the ingredients.”

Nick sniffed with mock indignation. “I know how to eat without making a mess everywhere, you know.”

The apothecary laughed. “I don’t doubt that, but it’s like back in chemistry class. You can never be too careful. You can eat out here and keep me company. I’ll make you some tea to go with your dinner.”

Nick gratefully accepted and leaned against the counter, bagel in hand. “How come you let Renard borrow your back room? You’re not usually in the habit of renting out your precious work space from what I could gather.”

“I just wanted to help out, I guess,” Rosalee shrugged. “Besides, I can make a bit of business off him with the ingredients I put aside for you two.”

“Ingredients? I don’t exactly get it. I thought he and I were going to talk.”

“More of a show and tell,” the captain’s even, familiar voice interrupted their chat.

Rosalee gave Renard a small smile and put her duster down to get another tea cup from the kitchenette. Nick watched him take off his coat and hang it next to the door. “What do I hear about ingredients? I didn’t know you could cook,” Nick asked with a hint of teasing, looking down at his mostly eaten bagel, curious and strangely amused at the same time.

That got him a quiet chuckle. “I can’t, or rather I don’t. What I have planned goes more in the direction of experimentation. The results should not be consumed like food.”

Nick shook his head, growing impatient. “Could somebody please finally explain to me what’s going on? I’ve got questions for you!”

Renard nodded. “We’ll get to that.”

At that moment Rosalee reappeared with a steaming mug that she handed to the captain. “I prepared everything you asked for, but are you sure this will work out?” she asked. Renard hesitated and Nick used the moment of silence.

“Rosalee, do you know what’s going on? That he is…” He was silenced by her gentle hand on his cheek.

“I know, Nick, don’t worry. And also don’t worry about getting your answers. Your captain,” at this she threw the older man a glance Nick could not decipher, “is still gathering some of those answers himself.”

Ignorance, no matter in what respect, didn’t sound like something Renard would care to admit to under normal circumstances. He did look rather uncomfortable at Rosalee’s statement. Nick took a moment to study him. The older man looked a little tired. A slight frown was marring his usually smooth forehead. The suit and tie Nick was used to seeing at work were absent. Instead the captain was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a freshly pressed white shirt. Nick also thought he could detect a slight stiffness from the way the captain moved. He suddenly felt a little sorry for being the reason the man wasn’t currently lying in bed resting.

“Maybe we should wait till you’ve had some sleep and found some more answers,” Nick offered, but Renard just shook his head.

“We shouldn’t waste any more time. Besides, I need you to help me figure some things out.”

Again Renard’s words left Nick puzzled until he remembered their brief conversation at the hospital.

It’s me, isn’t it.

He’d never heard the answer. But before Nick could even open his mouth, Renard reacted. “Yes.”

“How did you know?”

He hesitated for a long moment. “Things changed.”

“How? What things?”

And just like that they were in the middle of the talk Nick had been waiting for. Renard lifted his mug from the counter and took a sip, then cleared his throat. “There are things not many people know about hybrids. One is that they, no matter what kind of Wesen they are, do not have the same abilities as other Wesen of their kind. For most that means they are not as strong as a full-blooded Wesen and therefore quite vulnerable. They do not have the same kinds of instincts either, which can be an advantage in some cases. And their Woge doesn’t happen as easily as it does for other Wesen. The shift is…” Again Renard paused, looking into his cup.

“Painful?” Nick had nearly forgotten about Rosalee who had spoken, standing by the door to the back room, holding it open in invitation.

Renard shook his head. “Not exactly. It feels more like the skin you’re changing into is not your own.” He pushed away from the counter and walked through to the back room, throwing a glance at Nick in invitation. Rosalee closed the door behind them, leaving Nick alone with the Zauberbiest.

He’d never known much about Sean Renard. The captain was a very private man and guarded the personal aspects of his life carefully. He tried to remember if he’d ever heard Renard make a personal remark like all the other men did with whom he worked every day. He couldn’t think of a single thing. It made him wonder what it had cost Renard to reveal that much information to him.

Picking up his thread, Renard continued. “The Woge doesn’t come easy. It’s a process that takes longer than it should to complete. That kind of Woge leaves a person feeling vaguely unsettled, like when he suddenly discovers that the steps he makes with one foot do not match the ones of the other foot any longer. Something is wrong, but you have no idea how to fix it.”

“And that changed?”

Nick looked up at the captain and found him staring back. A sudden shift came over the man’s face, like a ripple in water. The change happened like a flash, Renard’s skin changing into a horrifying grimace of decay. Then it was gone again, leaving behind only the smooth features Nick had become familiar with.

“For the first time in my life I know what a Woge is supposed to feel like.”

“You still don’t change completely.”

“No. This… balance, for lack of a better word, does not change who I am.”

“This is because of me.”

He’d spoken the words. The question he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. He wondered if he’d be able to wrap his head around the answer.

“Yes,” Renard replied, but offered no other explanation. So Nick kept asking.

“Is that all that changed? Probably not, since you had Rosalee prepare all this stuff,” he answered his own question, gesturing toward the work bench where several bowls, flasks and decanters had been placed.

“For other Wesen that would be about it. They’d get stronger, faster, have better eyesight, basically the normal traits of their kind. For a Hexenbiest that means…”

“Magic,” Nick interrupted. He’d been aware of what they could do, what Adalind was capable of, bewitching humans, brewing Zaubertränke and moving things through the force of her will alone.

The captain nodded and put his mug down on a sideboard before stepping closer to the work bench. “That is what I am trying to figure out tonight.”

“You mean, you don’t know?” Nick asked, incredulous. If not Renard, then who would?

“As you probably discovered, there was never much written about hybrids. Most never live past childhood and those that did in the past only did so because they guarded their secrets fiercely. To admit to being a hybrid means making oneself vulnerable.”

Nick frowned. “Monroe and Rosalee know.”

A laugh filled with bitterness escaped Renard. “A moment of weakness.”

And he’d made himself even more vulnerable admitting that to Nick. It made the Grimm remember what Renard was risking in putting all his cards on the table. This was about so much more than gaining powers that could have been his from birth. “They won’t tell.”

“And what about you, Grimm?”

***

Strangely, that sentence brought a faint and gentle smile to Nick’s eyes. “You know me better than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. From the very beginning of their acquaintance Renard had recognized the detective as a guy he and others could take at face value. There was no falseness or deception in Nick Burkhardt and that hadn’t changed with him becoming a Grimm. It had long ago woken a glimmer of hope inside him that now flared into a bright spark. “I do.”

“Then why don’t you try and see what you’re capable of?” Nick came to stand across from him at the work bench and lifted up a dish filled with tiny translucent crystals, which he sniffed cautiously. He pulled a face at the rather strong medicinal smell that wafted up.

“Camphor,” Renard explained. With a twist of his wrists he rolled up his sleeves and then held out his hand for the dish.

A small measure of the crystals landed in a huge stone mortar, followed by a spoonful of beeswax pellets. Nick watched attentively as he crushed the sticky wax into the crystals, pulverizing them and mashing everything into a paste. From a tall brown bottle he measured a few drops of viscous liquid into a measuring spoon and held it over the mortar. “Watch.”

With a decisive flick, he poured the contents of the spoon over the sticky mixture in the mortar. Nothing happened. After a few seconds the Grimm’s eyes met his, eyebrows drawn up questioningly. Renard barely suppressed a smile. “Just as I expected.”

“What was that?” Nick asked, leaning closer to get a better look at the failed experiment.

“That was a hybrid Zauberbiest trying to do magic.”

“So it doesn’t work?”

Renard shook his head. He scraped the sticky mess out of the stone and wiped mortar and pestle clean with a cloth drenched in alcohol, then waited a few seconds for the spirit to evaporate. Again some camphor crystals landed in the bowl, then another few pellets of beeswax and he crushed them just like before. “Give me your hand.”

For a moment Nick hesitated, puzzled. But then the Grimm slowly extended his hand across the table. Renard reached for it, but instead of meeting Nick palm to palm he grasped Nick’s wrist and closed his hand over it. After one more second of hesitation, the Grimm’s grip mirrored his.

He could feel the blood rush gently beneath the warm skin. Taking up the spoon again, Renard took a deep breath for composure. Nick didn’t seem to notice, still staring at their joined hands. Again the viscous liquid dripped into the mortar and this time the reaction was instantaneous. A plume of smoke suddenly rose from the stone, followed by a loud bang. Several bright sparks shot up into the air, touching the ceiling and leaving dark spots of soot behind. As soon as it started, the reaction died down and the smoke cleared. This time Renard didn’t bother to hide a small pleased smile.

Behind them the door to the store banged open and an alarmed-looking Rosalee hurried towards them.

“Sorry about your ceiling.”

***

tbc


	10. Reactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick's touch clearly evokes magic. But he doesn't quite understand why they need to touch at all and Renard doesn't give him much in the way of an explanation.

Peering curiously over the rim of the huge stone mortar Nick eyed the result of the rather violent reaction, a reddish-brown liquid that swirled around in the mortar and then slowly solidified into a thick paste. He didn’t miss the sudden smile of deep satisfaction gracing the captain’s lips. It had worked. Something had happened, Nick mused, even though he had no idea what the red paste was supposed to be and if it was what Renard had been trying to make.

It was astonishing and quite confusing that just a small touch from him had unleashed the magic for such a reaction. He had no idea how or why, though apparently Renard did. He guessed it must be a relief for the man to finally be able to do what other Hexenbiester were able to do from birth. And all because they had clasped each other’s arms. Nick looked down. Neither man had let go yet.

“You had to pick the most volatile experiment first, didn’t you?”

Rosalee’s annoyed but also slightly amused voice made him finally draw back his hand. Renard let go of his wrist at the same time, taking with him the warmth on Nick’s skin.

“Just the easiest reaction,” the captain explained with a shrug. “I had planned to try one without too many ingredients first. I had no idea it would turn out quite so volatile.”

“Not like at your mother’s work table, I gather,” Rosalee guessed, drawing the mortar towards her to inspect the paste herself. “That looks quite alright. Would you mind if I tested it?”

Renard shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Nick watched her put some of it onto her fingertips with a small spatula and rub it between them. “What exactly is that?”

“Burn salve,” Rosalee explained without looking up. “You watched me make it the other day.”

“But that took nearly an hour. Is it really the same stuff?” Nick asked.

She nodded, spreading the salve over the back of her hand. “It is, essentially. But there’s a difference. What I’m doing with all those ingredients and a lot of time comes down to chemistry. What Captain Renard does is closer to alchemy.”

“Like making gold out of other stuff?”

That drew a chuckle from Renard. “Something like that. Only not even a Hexenbiest would be able to produce gold.”

“And what does all of that have to do with me?” Nick asked, looking directly at Renard. Their eyes met and held. He didn’t even notice Rosalee retreating toward the front of the store.

“Everything.” A small pause. The Zauberbiest was hesitating, the pleased half-smile suddenly gone. “Hybrids are cut off from most of their Wesen heritage. It is there, just out of reach. Not much is known about hybrids, mostly because those few that managed to survive long enough to grow up weren’t too fond of revealing their weaknesses. What is known is that once a hybrid Wesen finds his or her mate, they can draw on their mate’s energy to tap into their full strength.”

Nick nodded impatiently. He’d guessed as much. “Is the mate some kind of battery? Did you just take my energy?” He hadn’t felt anything beyond the warmth of their touch.

“No, that isn’t how it works. I never knew, but that is not what happens between us.” Renard looked down, reaching for the pestle, which he turned nervously in his hands. “You are not so much a source of energy for me as you are like a lens through which I can see a small sliver of the workings of the world. Everything becomes so clear, so focused. The ingredients, they looked just like my mother always used to describe them to me. Now the camphor is just a powder made up of tiny crystals. But through the focus you give me I can see their potential, their connections to other ingredients, all that is sleeping in them. I understand them, their attributes and effects. I know what happens when I add beeswax to them and crush the two together. It’s instinctive knowledge most Hexenbiester possess. That doesn’t eradicate the need for recipes, of course, but with your help I can sense the intricate connections that make these recipes work. It’s like an additional sense.”

The Zauberbiest’s voice had risen slightly, he spoke faster, Nick noticed, more excitedly than before, and he suddenly came to realize what this truly meant to his captain. Missing that connection must be like missing your eyes. “And you only have that when I’m touching you.”

“Yeah.” Soft. Full of regret.

“Why not always?”

Renard hesitated. “I don’t know.” Maybe he didn’t, but Nick had the sudden feeling that he’d just been lied to. He decided to let it go for the moment. There were so many things he still needed to understand.

“In the forest… you were there. You held my wrist like you did just now.”

“You were dying.”

“And you did something. You were there in the hospital as well. You took away the pain.”

“I can. At least for you.” The captain’s eyes showed a sudden spark, his lips twitching. “When I was young I wanted to be a doctor.”

The Grimm couldn’t help the answering grin spreading over his face. “I remember you telling us about that once.”

The taller man nodded. “I did, didn’t I.” He put down the pestle and let his hands wander to a bowl filled with what looked like poppy seeds. He grasped a pinch and let the tiny seeds drop back into the bowl, his smile fading somewhat.

Nick wondered what it must feel like to have one sense sharpened to near perfection only to have it dulled once again. “What else can you make?” he asked, gesturing towards the bowls. The question earned him a surprised glance.

“I picked easy things, just to try them out. A hair tonic, a fertilizer for house plants. A bitter tea to aid a newborn’s digestion.”

That last one made Nick pause. He was fairly certain that Renard hadn’t picked that one just because he wanted to try it out. He didn’t say anything though, just reached out a hand towards the captain, who suddenly looked as surprised as Nick felt.

“Do it.”

He watched as Renard almost eagerly reached for a measuring spoon, drew an empty bowl close and unstoppered a vial.

And suddenly that warmth was back, closing around his wrist. In turn Nick’s hand grasped Sean’s, his pulse beating against Nick’s palm, excited. Alive.

***

It felt like euphoria. The touch of the Grimm’s hand opened a window to another world and suddenly everything looked just right, like it was supposed to. His Wesen side reveled in that feeling, twitching restlessly, wanting out, wanting to reveal itself to his mate. He knew it was a bad idea. Grimms weren’t known to be very tolerant towards Hexenbiester and even though he knew the detective tended to give Wesen the benefit of the doubt more often than not, he doubted another reminder of his true nature would be welcome.

Instead Renard stayed focused on the task at hand as he completed more of the simple mixtures, the ingredients to which he’d known by heart since he was a boy peering across the top of his mother’s work bench. All his experiments were successful, even if most of the reactions seemed to be slightly more powerful than they should have been. He wondered why that was. While he hadn’t set anything on fire, the shop’s ceiling was now decorated with a few more black spots and towards the end they’d had to open a window to let a huge cloud of bright blue smoke escape.

Unfortunately the feeling wasn’t bound to last. As soon as Nick’s touch left him, as soon as the slight sheen of sweat that had collected where their skin had touched started to dry, the world of the Hexenbiest closed to him once more. He watched Nick shake out his hand. His own was a bit sore from keeping a hold on the other man’s wrist. It felt like losing a limb and Renard had no idea how he would be able to deal with the loss.

For a moment his gaze lingered on Nick who was busy stacking some of the now empty bowls to carry over to the sink. Maybe it would have been better if he’d never found his mate after all. It certainly hadn’t made things any easier. He suppressed a sigh and reached for the pestle and mortar to clean.

“What a pity Rosalee didn’t have any Mäusemilch,” he remarked. “It would have improved the taste of the tea.”

Nick looked up and their eyes met. For a brief moment Renard wondered if it was only a sense of loss tugging at his heart when he looked at the Grimm.

“I have some.”

“You do?”

“Sure, in the storage cupboard. Which you sent your pet Hexenbiest to investigate the other night,” he added.

Nick didn’t sound pleased. With good reason, he supposed. But Renard was not going to apologize for his actions. “I had to know,” he simply stated.

“Why?” Those inquisitive grey eyes were focussed entirely on him now, the dirty bowls forgotten in Nick’s hand.

“I suspected you could do a lot of damage to many Wesen with some of the things your aunt left you.”

“And what’s that to you?” came the indignant reply.

“You forget who I am.” His own voice suddenly turned sharper.

It didn’t take the detective’s sharp mind long to understand. Yes, Renard was a hybrid, a Zauberbiest, Portland’s police captain and a royal. He had a city to protect. And a Grimm was a threat. “You don’t trust me,” he stated, mirroring Renard’s tone. “You’ve known me long enough, Captain, but you don’t trust a Grimm.”

Just like that their words earlier that evening were back in both their minds. Mentally Renard applauded Nick for playing the officer-of-the-law card. “A Zauberbiest trusting a Grimm or even a human is never a good idea.” He had to suppress a laugh of bitter amusement at how much his words spoke of past betrayal. 

“You can’t even trust in that bond thing between us?”

“The bond doesn’t mean anything,” he sighed with poorly concealed frustration. “Not as long as you don’t accept it.”

That last sentence silenced any answer the Grimm might have had. “You don’t even know that I don’t,” he exclaimed with a frown.

I know you don't, otherwise I wouldn’t need such close contact for the simplest spells, otherwise I would see the world like I’m supposed to see it. Otherwise we would be so much closer.  
He wanted to tell Nick all that, express all his frustration to his mate, but he bit his lip and stayed silent.

This wasn't Nick's fault. He couldn't simply change the younger man’s feelings in the matter. Mate bonds didn't work like that, they weren't made up of unconditional acceptance and undying love like romance novels made them out to be. They were alive, changing and not interfering with a person's wants or needs or desires. So Nick could either choose to accept it, accept a Zauberbiest as his mate or he could choose not to. And as long as there was no acceptance, the hybrid would remain incomplete.

The Grimm didn't demand a reply, probably taking his silence as an admission that indeed Renard had no idea of Nick’s acceptance.

So Renard said nothing more and started cleaning up. Bowls wandered into the sink and were cleaned in tense silence. Once they were done he turned towards the detective. "I should leave. Thank you for your... assistance." This time he successfully managed to keep the resentment he felt out of his voice, judging from Nick's expression.

Nick just nodded. But Renard didn't miss the fingertips the young Grimm was gently rubbing along his wrist.

***

tbc


	11. Taking Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another murder shocks Nick and the captain has a favor to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is an early update and a short one. And unfortunately there probably won't be an update next Sunday, as I'm going away on vacation.
> 
> This thing between Nick and the captain is long in the making, I know. Don't worry, though, won't be too long now. Thanks for bearing with me and for all your comments!

Nick was out of his depth and that had happened too often for comfort lately. Since he’d met the captain at the Spice Shop Nick often spent his lunch break alone in the small park just across the street from the precinct, staring into a paper coffee cup as if it held the answers to all his questions. Hank had even started giving him shit about it, but right now the more often he was away from the bullpen the better. Things had been awkward for him. Every time he looked up from his desk he could see Captain Renard in his office, giving instructions to his men, talking to the press or meeting with high-ranking politicians. And every time he remembered the man’s large hand closing around his wrist, a cloud of bright blue smoke rising between them, and that barely-there smile of deep satisfaction.

His captain was a royal, his family controlling the European Wesen world, including Grimms. His captain was Wesen, a Zauberbiest, not exactly the most personable species to any Grimm, Nick included. He was also a hybrid and Nick was his mate. He couldn’t quite get his head around that last bit.

This time the myriad of books in the trailer were no help. None of them had given him even an inkling of bonds between Wesen or humans or Grimms. Not a word about hybrids, either, nothing on why a hybrid Zauberbiest needed physical contact to his mate for his power to come to the fore. And no explanation whatsoever why Nick simply couldn’t get rid of the feeling of Renard’s skin against his own.

Maybe his books didn’t have any answers for him because his Grimm ancestors simply hadn’t bothered with collecting Wesen facts from the Wesen themselves. His ancestors had been a lot more interested in decimating the creature population than mating with them. It didn’t make them any more likable to Nick.

Curiously, Monroe and Rosalee were reluctant to provide him with answers. He’d tried to get some answers from his roommate, but the Blutbad denied any knowledge of mate bonds and hybrids. The detective in Nick didn’t quite believe him, but he wasn’t going to alienate his friend over the whole matter and so chose to give up for the moment.

Rosalee trying to evade the questions with a charming smile and a cup of tea made things even more suspicious.

“Don’t you get it? I need to understand what I’m dealing with here. I don’t even know what he can do. Can he read my thoughts or influence me or could I accidentally hurt him through the bond?”

The Fuchsbau just shrugged and shook her head with a regretful little smile. “You need to learn to accept the bond for what it is,” was all she was willing to say. It frustrated the Grimm to no end.

At least their murder case got a new perspective, though not under the most pleasant of circumstances. They found another body. This time a young woman had been murdered in her apartment. Her husband had discovered her after he’d returned home from a business trip.

She too had been pregnant and nearing her due date, but now her belly was badly mangled, ripped open with what must have been savage force.

The officers first at the scene found a baby boy next to the victim, still connected to his mother by the umbilical cord. The tiny infant hadn’t survived the trauma.

Nick stared at the scene with horror, not sure if this time it would be him losing his dinner. It was dark outside and the dim living room light illuminating the scene cast an unreal shadow across the floor. For a second the detective had to bite his lip to remind himself that this unfortunately was no dreamscape.

He watched as if through a haze as an officer took photos of the crime scene. On the floor, wafting across the polished wood with every slight draft, were clouds of animal hair and lint.

The captain arrived at the scene just moments after, looking strangely grey around the edges.

Nick watched him for a bit, simply because he wasn’t sure he could look at the huge amount of blood spread in bright red splatters all over the floor, the walls and even the ceiling for one more second.

Renard’s face displayed his usual cool detachment as he moved through the room with practiced efficiency, instructing his men, looking at the details of the scene, even getting a close look at the bodies. Some of the officers present seemed a little unnerved by the captain’s collected facade, but Nick noticed that the bulge of a clenched fist in Renard’s coat pocket never vanished.

They hadn't talked after the experiments at the Spice shop, except in a coolly professional manner at work. So Nick was surprised when the captain waved him into the small kitchen. He followed the tall man away from watching eyes and leaned against the fridge, waiting.

Renard took a few steps around the kitchen table, which was still covered with a half-eaten breakfast, then turned, not saying anything. He reminded Nick a bit of a panther, lithe and deadly, pacing around in a too small cage.

"I need your help," he finally burst out, startling Nick out of his observation. "Once more, if you'll give it."

"More experiments?"

"So to speak. Just one though."

"You need to make something specific?"

For a moment the captain stared at him and Nick got the impression Renard didn't particularly relish the thought of sharing his plans with the Grimm. His lips were pressed in a thin line, but after a moment the green eyes glanced away. He stopped pacing and rested his hands on the back of a chair. 

"A Manteltrank. It's a cloaking potion."

Suspicions rose, but Renard kept talking, offering an explanation without Nick even asking. "I need to see her."

For a second Nick wondered if his boss had just asked him to help brew a potion to enchant a possible love interest.

"I need to see that she's safe. The potion can mask a person's presence so they can't be followed. I can't risk her like that."

Finally it dawned on him that the captain was talking about little Frieda. The baby had been squirreled away in the dead of night, with only very few persons actually knowing where. And with the new murders Renard was worried for the hybrid. It astounded and even touched Nick to see how worried the captain actually was for her.

But Renard wasn't done. A nervous look at the open door told him they were still alone. "We will get to the bottom of this. I will see these abysmal crimes stopped!" The words came out as an angry hiss and Nick could see his own anger mirrored in Renard’s face.

For a moment it looked like the Zauberbiest was going to woge and suddenly there was a sharp knife flying across the room right into the captain's hand.

Both men reared back, Renard as startled as Nick, and he nearly dropped the sharp blade. They stared at the weapon in his hand.

"How..."

"You did this," they started at the same time, then broke off and looked at one another.

"How did you do this?"

Silence. And all of a sudden Nick felt a sliver of pleased surprise that wasn't his own. The feeling of this strange emotion was almost more disconcerting to him than the flying knife.

The hand holding the knife lowered. "I can't say."

"I didn't know you could do that. We weren't even touching."

"Not in that way, no."

Nick decided not to ask. Instead he said, "When do you want to do this?"

"Day after tomorrow. Your friend might not have all the necessary ingredients at hand."

With a swift movement the captain placed the blade back onto the counter, just before Wu entered the kitchen looking for them. The sergeant looked decidedly green. "Sometimes I regret my career choice. I should have become a plumber like my uncle. This is way more sickening than cleaning shit out of pipes."

They could only nod in agreement.

***

tbc


	12. Invisible Threads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renard is on a mission and he needs Nick's help. Or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from vacation, new chapter and one step closer for our two protagonists ;) . As always thanks for the many encouraging comments and thanks to yivel for the great beta!

Illina had lived alone, an orphan with very few ties in the world. None of the people who knew her knew much about her or the circumstances of her pregnancy.

Not so Meghan Siegert. She was married, had family and a job in Portland and kept her affairs in order. It was easier for Nick and Hank to find out more about her. They went to visit her still severely distraught husband and managed to ask him some necessary questions.

The couple had been unable to conceive for years after their wedding and so they had decided to visit a clinic. The procedure had taken after only a few tries, and husband and wife had been ecstatic, looking forward to their child. 

From what he could gather, Nick surmised that neither she nor her husband were Wesen, neither were any of the family members they visited.

The Grimm strongly suspected the baby might have been Wesen. The only question that remained was why the killer hadn't taken the small body. Even dead hybrids were worth a hefty sum of money.

Rosalee of course had an answer for him when he talked to her a few days later at the shop while waiting for Renard. "He might not have been a hybrid," she explained. "They are genetic anomalies and not just the result of a Wesen and a Kehrseite mixing. Usually the child is one or the other; hybrids are both at once."

Unfortunately they had no way of verifying her theory without arousing suspicion, so all that remained was guesswork and some very frustrated police officers. Nick guessed it was time to let out the Grimm, only he didn’t have any idea where to start. Rosalee did, though. While they were busy talking about her suppliers and which one of them might know something about a supplier of human organs the captain finally arrived, nearly fifteen minutes late. Nick looked him up and down. He’d seen his superior officer from afar at the station. Renard had been tied up in several meetings all day, all of them running late, and he hadn’t taken the time to change out of his suit. Strangely, he looked even more tired than after the forty-eight-hour case.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he apologized and hung up his coat and suit jacket by the door.

Rosalee immediately went over to him with a small cup, which Renard sniffed carefully. “I thought you might want to have something stronger than just tea today. It’s Turkish mocha,” she explained and watched him take an experimental sip of the sweet and intensely bitter liquid.

Nick watched a small smile cross his lips. “Reminds me of Vienna.” It sounded almost homesick and made the Grimm wonder how Rosalee managed to bring this openness out in him every single time.

“You planning on wearing that?” the Fuchsbau asked, gesturing toward the captain’s dress shirt, slightly crumpled but still immaculately clean after a long day at work.

He shrugged. “I didn’t have time to change.”

Rosalee apparently wasn’t convinced his choice of dress was a good idea. She turned around and started rummaging though one of the closets by the door until she pulled out a heavy-duty leather apron, which she handed to Renard.

“If you leave your undershirt on you should be fine.”

Now Renard was the one to look thoroughly unconvinced of the choice of clothing.

“You know this one’s going to be messy,” Rosalee chided when he didn’t immediately take the apron from her.

Nick watched their exchange from a distance. He had no clue what the preparation of this Manteltrank entailed, so he kept quiet. The idea of seeing his captain in something else than his usual suit and tie intrigued him, he found. He still vividly recalled the dark jeans from last time and silently wondered why that was.

After several more seconds of hesitation Renard finally shrugged and started unbuttoning his shirt, giving no indication that he minded or that he had even noticed the other man’s scrutiny.

“Nick, could you get an apron for yourself?” Rosalee’s voice made him glance up. “The Manteltrank has a nasty habit of exploding all over the place and the boysenberry juice stains everything.”

While Nick was busy reaching for an apron from the closet, Renard finished dressing, so when he turned back around he was faced with his superior officer dressed in slacks, a tan leather apron and a white undershirt, revealing well-muscled upper arms and a glimpse of smooth chest.

Of course this time the lingering look didn’t go unnoticed and Nick noticed a quirk of the captain’s mouth he wasn’t entirely sure he’d seen there before.

“I hope you’ll still respect me in the morning,” Renard drawled, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Nick couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. The entire scene was just so ridiculous and the captain had seen right to the heart of the matter. His men just weren’t used to seeing him in anything but expensively tailored suits, but his dry humor had easily broken the tension.

“Don’t worry, captain. Though you should take care not to let the female employees see you like that,” Nick couldn’t help but tease back. “We’d never get them away from your office windows otherwise.”

The captain raised an eyebrow, expression suddenly serious, though the corner of his mouth was twitching. Nick just shook his head, still smiling, and pulled his own apron over his head. The tension of their last encounter wasn’t gone, but the mood between them seemed lighter.

Together they went into the work room, where this time Rosalee had prepared a myriad of bowls, flasks and bundles of herbs along with a Bunsen burner.

Nick moved to his former spot across from the work space and watched as the Zauberbiest perused the ingredients, sniffing a bowl here and there or crumbling a dried leaf between his fingers. Finally, Renard stepped up to the mortar and started the cooking process, this time with the help of a rather large book that reminded the Grimm of the books in the trailer. Several ingredients went into the mortar, got crushed together and then transferred to a glass beaker to be heated above a bright blue flame.

Renard was completely focussed on his task, not even looking up when Rosalee poked her head in to see if they were doing alright. He hadn’t sought out contact with Nick yet. At one point, Nick thought he was reaching out for him, but a moment later the captain looked up at him with a thoughtful expression.

“Could you maybe stand over by the sink?” he asked in a carefully neutral voice.

“You want to get rid of me?” Nick asked, but went where he was told to.

Renard just shook his head, his focus back on the task at hand. Nick watched the captain move, how the muscles played beneath the smooth skin of his upper arms, how strong hands tightly gripped each instrument, yet wielded it with care and precision, how his broad chest rose and fell with a particularly deep breath before he added one emulsion to another.

A spark of something hot and sizzling flitted through Nick’s mind, something that he was careful not to analyze too closely, followed, strangely, by first astonishment and then mild annoyance, coming seemingly out of nowhere.

At just that moment, however, he was distracted by a loud bubbling sound coming from one of the beakers and a hiss from the Zauberbiest. Nick looked up to find Renard fully woged, cursing as he set down the foaming beaker to shake purple liquid from his hand.

Within seconds the bubbling calmed and Renard withdrew his hand, changing back into the smooth-faced police captain. There were angry red splotches on his skin, which he immediately tried to soothe with cold water from the sink next to Nick.

“What was that?” the Grimm asked.

Renard shook his head again in annoyance, still staring at the running water. “The reaction was too strong.”

“What? Is it ruined now?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll have to try it out.”

“Wait, you mean you finished it without touching?” Touching him.

Renard just nodded.

“How? I don’t understand any of this anymore.”

A sliver of frustration, not his own, and a bone-weary tiredness that suddenly seemed to drag down his limbs. And the only cure for this feeling was to curl up and hold something close. Almost like he had often done with Juliette.

It made a strange suspicion rise inside of him, but before he could put it out there Renard had moved back to the work table and was lifting the beaker to his lips, the liquid inside still bubbling slightly.

“You want to test it on yourself?” Nick asked, slightly horrified at the thought of consuming some chemical experiment gone wrong. He’d seen the effect the wrong potion could have on a person.

“Why, you volunteering?” came the calm reply. “I know it’ll work, only I have no idea how strong a reaction it is going to cause.”

Nick sighed, stepping back. “I just don’t want to have to go to Rosalee for another emergency potion if you end up poisoning yourself right in front of me.”

This time the feeling that came over him was a little warm tingling in the pit of his stomach that made the Grimm frown and narrow his eyes.

“Don’t worry.”

He wanted to add that he wasn’t worried, but at that moment Renard downed about half the purple stuff from the beaker, hot as it was, and then suddenly vanished completely.

For a moment, Nick simply stared at the spot where Renard had just been, mouth hanging open.

“Well. This works better than expected.”

***

tbc


	13. Performance Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick is wary of Hexenbiester and Monroe goes undercover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize for my prolonged absence. Real life interfered big time, but I'm back now and I promise a lot of excitement in the next chapters. Stay tuned!

Renard watched as the Grimm flinched at his disembodied voice. “What the hell?” Nick looked decidedly uncomfortable. He didn’t even seem to know where to look, head turning from left to right and back again.

The potion had surpassed his wildest expectations. He looked down, a little thrill running through him at seeing nothing there. He was completely invisible, right along with his clothes. What with Nick situated relatively far away on the other side of the room, the Zauberbiest had expected to become a little less noticeable to others, to have his scent muted to predators that were hoping to follow his trail. This was a spectacular result and even his mother wouldn’t have been able to do better.

“What a Manteltrank actually does,” he started his explanation, “is to disguise a person’s scent, their presence, and the involuntary noises they make from others. The stronger it is, the better the cloaking features are. I didn’t expect it to turn out that potent.”

“Why did it work anyway? Last time you weren’t even able to make that salve without touching.”

He heard the wariness in Nick’s voice, felt it resonate over their link, just like he had felt the other man’s eyes on him just a few moments ago when he’d completed the potion. That was the reason it had turned out stronger than he could have hoped for even with skin-to-skin contact.

He had been more than a bit sorry to miss a chance of touching Nick again.

“We were touching, in a way.”

Nick flinched again, standing stock still against the wall by the sink, watching the room guardedly, as if expecting the Zauberbiest to suddenly attack him from out of nowhere. It had to be his Grimm instincts kicking in.

“It’s the bond,” Nick stated. “I could feel you.”

Renard nodded, then remembered that Nick wouldn’t be able to see. “Yes.” Unfortunately this was not the time for explanations. He picked up the beaker and downed the rest of its contents. The longer this state lasted, the better. “I need to go.”

The Grimm looked like he wanted to protest, but before he could open his mouth, Renard had pushed open the door and was on his way out.

Being virtually undetectable afforded him the chance to seek out Frieda without delay or detours. A few well-applied lock picks allowed him to easily access the dark house in which she was currently being kept, a small orphanage where she had to all appearances been abandoned by her mother several months ago and now lived under the name of Penny Doe.

He found her well, deeply asleep in her small crib. The bigger task was walking around the perimeter to look for anything suspicious. He found nothing, no footprints, no strange Wesen smells, no surveillance. The Zauberbiest managed to place some surveillance of his own. Frieda was safe for now.

When he returned, the spice shop was already dark and locked up. Renard quickly made his way inside, still invisible, to find that Nick and Rosalee had cleaned up after him. He left some money in a glass bowl on the counter to pay for the ingredients and left quiet as he’d come.

The next day he was visible again, though to Nick he might still have been invisible. The detective ignored him as much as he could get away with and the captain was too busy with the press interested in their current case to find the time to talk to the younger man.

At least their case got a new spin when Nick and Hank went to visit the clinic responsible for Meghan’s in vitro fertilization. The team discovered that not only had the couple decided on an alternative method to get pregnant, but also on using a sperm donor, a service the clinic offered in collaboration with a sperm bank.

That had made Nick think of Illina and the fact that there was no father as far as they knew. It turned out Illina had also visited the clinic, a visit that had resulted in a much-anticipated pregnancy for the young woman and her subsequent untimely death.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Hank ranted when they came into his office to present their findings. “We need to go and pay that sperm bank a visit.”

The detectives had gotten a record of all the patients who had chosen to use donated sperm for insemination without even having to get a warrant. Which, at this point, they wouldn’t have gotten. But once Nick had disclosed a few details of the murders, the manager had proved to be reasonable and made copies of all relevant files.

“Would be more damaging to our reputation to be the link in some bizarre mass murder case than if it became known that we give out patient records to trustworthy police detectives,” their liaison had shrugged upon seeing their surprised glances. “Besides, we would like to prove from the start that none of our staff are responsible for those two gruesome deeds.”

So the sperm bank was next, as was a look into said staff members’ records. Renard listened attentively to the detectives’ assessment of the situation and sanctioned their plans. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could not help but glance at Nick.

The Grimm had seen something and he was going to investigate under the radar. He could virtually feel the younger man twitch with impatience.

After the detectives were done, he asked Nick to remain behind under the pretense of discussing overtime with him so as not to arouse suspicion with Hank. For a moment, Nick hesitated by the door before closing it behind his partner.

“What did you see?”

The Grimm frowned, clearly unsure if he should discuss his off-the-record findings with his captain, but then a look of determination crossed his face.

“One of the nurses is a Seelengut. She woged when we told her about the murder investigation.”

“But that’s not what has the Grimm all ready to hunt,” Renard stated, watching Nick twitch.

“One of the doctors we talked to is a Hexenbiest.”

Ah, that’s what this was about. Grimms and Hexenbiester didn't mix, and when they did, the results were usually volatile. He still remembered Adalind’s rants when he’d put her on Nick’s case.

“A young one, I gather, since she was inexperienced enough to reveal herself in front of you.”

Nick shook his head. “Rather the opposite. She was about fifty, I’d say, and acted rather upset when she heard about the murdered mothers.”

“Was she the one to treat the women?”

“No. They were treated by different doctors and didn’t even have the same nurses attend to them as far as we could tell.”

For a moment, Renard remained quiet. Nick had prejudices against Hexenbiester in general. He was a Grimm and couldn’t very well go against his nature without fighting his own instincts. It didn’t make Renard’s predicament any easier.

Yet he knew that this was no ordinary Grimm of old. Nick Burkhardt was different. He had no idea why a Hexenbiest doctor would be upset about the passing of two young pregnant women, but he would understand. Just as he had understood some things about that Blutbad friend of his in the end.

“You’re going to look into her?”

“Sometimes it is better for the captain not to know what his men are up to in their spare time,” Nick answered, turning toward the door.

“Nick.” The Grimm turned back when Renard called his name, and their eyes met. “I’m sorry.” Sorry for leaving, sorry for not telling you more.

The younger man’s eyes closed for just a second, almost like a nod, before he disappeared.

***

He wasn’t pleased. The reports from the US were worrying, at least where his business was concerned. Lately, especially the Portland branch was making trouble. He’d vetoed that location from the first, but his partners hadn’t wanted to listen. Now it seemed he’d been right not to invest in his brother’s city. The police captain was interfering just as Eric knew he would. And he wouldn’t have that. It was time to send a warning.

***

“You want me to what?!” Monroe could hardly believe what his friend had just asked.

It wasn’t something you asked a person in polite society. Or at all, usually. True, Nick hadn’t been very successful with the leads at the sperm bank, and the investigation into the background of the Hexenbiest doctor had not yielded any clues either, but this was what Monroe would call drastic measures.

“To donate sperm,” Nick repeated, at least looking somewhat uncomfortable.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he exclaimed, making the Grimm wince.

“Please, it’s the only chance we’ve got to get a lead in this case,” Nick pleaded.

The Blutbad could understand his friend’s evident frustration very well. Their clues had led them nowhere. The sperm donors enjoyed complete anonymity. No information could be gained regarding the samples used to impregnate Illina and Meghan, beyond the fact that they were from two separate men.

What Nick had noticed, however, was that some of the record sheets they’d been shown had markings on them, very subtle and easily overlooked by anybody not knowing what to look for. They were made up of small clusters of dots looking like nervous doodling, all in different places but some with the same configuration. He’d gotten copies of the forms and taken them back to the precinct, where Hank had helped him go over them. What they had determined was that the donors with the markings had received a slightly higher compensation than the donors without markings. And upon closer perusal they had been able to figure out that the compensation was not the result of very desirable features or feature combinations. They simply didn’t seem to have anything in common.

At least nothing one could put on paper. Which had led Nick to believe that the donors must be Wesen and somebody knew about that.

And the only chance to prove Nick’s suspicions was to send Monroe to become a donor.

“You are aware that I’m not exactly fond of the idea of a myriad of potential little Blutbaden offspring running around Oregon?” Monroe asked, hoping his voice was sounding less hysterical than he imagined.

Nick brightened. “Don’t worry, I did my research. Your sperm wouldn’t be used right away. The sperm bank usually keeps it frozen for at least six months. After that time you will have to get in for more tests for STIs and stuff. You can always say you had the clap or some such shit and you’re out. But you can still keep the money. Please?”

The Grimm sounded too smug for his own good. Monroe still wasn’t convinced. Then Nick threw him another hopeful look from those big grey eyes and Monroe felt himself nod.

“Alright, I’ll do it. But you better be right about the whole thing or I’m sending you in to retrieve my DNA!”

Nick only laughed.

He still had that sound in his ears several days later when he stepped a reluctant foot in the sperm bank. The instructions were straightforward enough. Go in, signal willingness to donate, and give information about self. Do not forget to ask about possible benefits for special features.

He did fine for the first few minutes. The young woman behind the counter kept their brief interview strictly professional and gave him a form to complete. When he handed it back to her she briefly read through the information he’d provided and gave him a slight smile. “I see we probably won’t have to provide you with dietary supplements, should you become a regular. Vegetarians rarely have trouble fulfilling the requirements,” she added and Monroe had the feeling she was eyeing him from beneath her lashes. “We may be able to give you better compensation for that one once the test results come back.”

This was not the compensation he was after. They’d already known about the benefits for vegetarians, but it was his chance to bring up other benefits.

“From what I understand there are other, more… exclusive benefits you can offer?” he began, not sure if he should reveal to her what he was. The girl didn’t smell of Wesen.

She looked up and studied him for a moment. “I see. Wait here for a moment. You’d have to speak to my supervisor for that.” With that she disappeared into a back room and left a nervous Monroe to wait.

It took several minutes, during which Monroe’s doubts and nervousness grew. He was just about to turn around and leave when a man in a lab coat stepped up to the counter.

“So you’ve got something special to offer?” The man didn’t sound impressed. Half the donors probably tried to offer something very special to get some extra cash, Monroe assumed. “Harvard diploma, stellar IQ or someone really famous in your bloodline? We’re not looking for that here.”

Monroe took a deep breath. “None of the above, but how about a little wolf?”

That made the man listen up, and suddenly he could smell it. Fuchsbau.

“Well, show me what you’ve got.”

The Blutbad focused, taking another deep breath. This situation made him feel even more performance anxiety than he’d already suffered before. He woged anyway, for just a moment, but it was enough to convince the Fuchsbau.

“Very nice. I think we may be able to accommodate you. Haven’t had a Blutbad here in ages.”

“The ladies asking for that specifically or what?”

The man nodded, making a few more notes on the sheet in front of him. “Sometimes. We like to stock a variety of samples. Now look, we’re still going with standard procedure; you do your thing, we keep the sample for about six months and then get you back in for more testing. You get paid up front for the first time and we’re gonna add your bonus for each subsequent donation if it turns out you’re healthy, about two hundred, you okay with that? Sign here, then.”

He just nodded and picked up the pen. The lump lodged in his throat left no room for words, but he instantly noticed the small cluster of dots in the upper right-hand corner of the paper.

“Alright, Jenny will show you to your room. There’s a tube in there with a manual as well as… stimulating reading material. Just try to aim properly. It’s a bitch to replace those magazines every single time.”

The stunned Blutbad was led to a rather sterile room, still debating with himself if this was a good idea. One thing he was certain of, however. He was not going to touch these magazines.

***

tbc


	14. A Piece of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The captain gets better acquainted with his windshield than he ever wanted to and Nick is there to talk some sense back into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally getting somewhere, folks, or at least Sean and Nick are ;)

The message was more loud than clear at first. Renard’s ears were ringing from the sudden blast. To be truthful, he hadn’t been paying attention, but then, who expected to get into one’s car - that had been parked in the parking garage at a police station all day - and have one’s windshield explode all over the place. For a moment he remained frozen in the car seat, into which he had been pressed by the small-scale explosion shattering the glass all around him. It took a while for him to realize that he was hurt, bleeding profusely in fact, from a myriad of cuts, mostly to his head and face, as the blood began to trickle into his eyes.

Blinded by red and nearly insensitive from shock the captain reached for the door handle to unlock the door he’d just pulled shut behind him, and encountered a small glass flask hidden in the handle bar. With shaking fingers he grabbed the delicate glass and didn’t let go.

He knew what this was. A warning; minimum effort with maximum effect. Otherwise he would be dead. It was a favorite method of his brother’s, especially designed to maim, not kill. The message was the empty phial.

Renard remembered one of the few meetings with his brother when they were still just children. Eric had waved him close and he’d gone suspiciously, watching the outstretched hand the pre-teen boy had offered to him. He clearly recalled the flash of glass in the hand smaller than his own, the phial sitting there, and his brother’s voice. “To the family you’re worth far more dead than alive, hybrid.”

Out of the corner of his eye Renard saw officers rush towards him. Hank's familiar face appeared beside him, speaking words he couldn't make out over the ringing in his ears.

Strong hands pulled at him and he realized the engine had caught on fire and he'd better get out of the car. A part of his mind took the time to remember where Nick was. He didn't want his mate anywhere near a burning car.

As he stumbled away from the wreck, security officers armed with fire extinguishers rushed past him. Two of his men led him away from the shards and smoke, pushing him down to sit by a pillar at a safe distance. Hank was talking, probably asking if he was alright, but he couldn't really hear. 

"My ears," he managed to get out and wiped at the blood still coursing down his face. He was damn lucky the shrapnel hadn't cost him an eye, Renard realized. “Was anybody hurt?”

Hank, crouching by his side, shook his head. Somebody was trying to staunch the blood flow by pressing a jacket or something to the right side of his face where the worst of the cuts were. The captain shoved him away firmly and made to get up. This was a disaster, an explosion right in the middle of a police station. He knew there would be an investigation but he also knew there would be no trace and no suspect.

Meanwhile there was chaos to be ordered. Officers were rushing around, still trying to extinguish the fire flaring up from the shredded hood of the car. Over the noise in his ears Renard could make out sirens in the distance and at that moment the sprinkler system went off. At least the water would wash some of the blood out of his eyes. He took a deep breath and got to his feet.

An alarmed Hank had risen with him and was now keeping a steadying hand on his back. Not that he needed it. “Captain, you better sit back down, the ambulance is going to be here any minute.” At least his hearing was returning quickly.

Renard just shook his head. “There’s time for that later,” he told the obviously worried detective. “I’ve got a precinct to put back in order.” His first steps were a bit shaky, but he managed to make his way over to the elevator door, Hank still by his side.

“Captain, you’re not supposed to be moving around,” Wu called, suddenly appearing on his other side, but he shrugged off the hand the man had placed on his arm.

“It’s just a scratch,” he insisted and dug through his coat pockets for a key card to access the elevator. He was alright, there wasn’t even any pain.

At least the captain thought so until he noticed his hand shaking too badly for him to place his key card into the slot. For a second the beast inside rose to the surface, making a myriad of small and not so small cuts sting like crazy. It felt a bit like the Woge he’d been used to before he’d met Nick and the sensation wasn’t at all welcome.

After a second try to call the elevator also failed and his men only stood by to watch, Renard, being quite a sensible and level-headed man, finally gave up with a shrug. “Maybe I should let that get checked out after all. Since you already called that ambulance.”

***

“I couldn’t do it,” Monroe sighed, walking up to where Nick was waiting outside by the car.

“What? Why not? Not like it’s all that difficult a task, Monroe.”

To be honest, Nick was a tiny bit amused at his friend’s flustered confession. Not that he was going to let that show. They’d gotten the info they’d been after and it wasn’t like he had relished the thought of breaking into a sperm bank to steal Monroe’s semen if things went wrong in the end. That thought made him want to burst out laughing even more.

“You should have seen that place! Totally sterile, except maybe for their choice of reading material,” the Blutbad blurted, still trying to explain his sudden performance anxiety to the Grimm. “I’d say it wasn’t at all inspiring and I would have liked to see you try!”

This time Nick couldn’t hold back his grin. “Really,” he deadpanned. “I’m not all that inclined toward exhibitionism, but if it would have helped you…”

He could positively see the penny drop along with Monroe’s jaw.

“Damn Nick, you miserable son of a Grimm! As if I’d go for your skinny ass!” Monroe finally laughed, shoving Nick playfully.

The Grimm couldn’t help but shove back a little, nearly knocking off the ridiculous sunglasses Monroe had insisted on wearing. “At least we found out what we came here for.”

“And this time I didn’t even have to fight anybody.”

“Don’t look so disappointed. The case isn’t solved yet.” He knew how much the Blutbad wanted to get his hands on the Hundjäger kidnapping innocent hybrid babies and threatening Rosalee. 

“I wish it was,” Monroe sighed. “So any time you need my help, just give me a shout.”

“Will do. I know where you live, after all,” Nick joked and wanted to add an invitation for coffee and a donut, but before he could get the words out, a strange feeling of unease overcame him. He jerked back the hand he’d reached out towards the car door as if stung.

“Nick? You alright?”

A strange ringing in his ears nearly drowned out Monroe’s suddenly concerned voice. The Grimm looked up in confusion, only he couldn’t see all that much through the thick red fog descending across his eyes. There was a sensation of wetness dripping over his brow and he had to blink a couple of times to clear his vision again.

And then there was a sudden burst of pain not his own, from several cuts, some deep, some shallow, all across his face and neck.

As abruptly as it’d come, the alien sensation was gone again, leaving Nick puzzled as to what had just happened. He dragged a hand through his hair and almost expected to feel blood, but there was none. It was as if he’d just caught a glimpse of feelings not his own and he was suddenly reminded of a similar sensation only a few days ago, of pleased surprise, just as alien, echoing inside his mind.

“Nick?” Monroe repeated, already walking around the car towards him.

“I’m fine,” Nick murmured, still a little dazed from the sudden onslaught. “But there’s something wrong with Renard.”

Almost on autopilot he reached for his phone and dialed Hank’s office number. Curiously, his partner didn’t answer nor did any of his other colleagues. Hank’s cell phone was next and this time his partner did pick up, his voice as even and collected as ever, which eased Nick’s fears somewhat.

“Nick, what’s up?”

At first he didn’t even know what to say. He didn’t actually have a reason to call on his day off and even less reason to demand to speak to the captain, since he’d just called Hank’s cell. The sound of rushing water came over the line and he thought he could hear shouting and sirens coming closer.

“Is everything alright?” he started, ignoring Hank’s question. “You at a crime scene?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Hank replied. “There was an explosion at the precinct.”

“What?!” The panic inside him rose again, along with his pulse. “Is everybody okay?” Nick’s eyes rose to meet Monroe’s over the now open car door. He couldn’t remember getting out his keys.

“More or less,” the detective explained, trying to calm his partner. “The captain was getting into his car when the engine exploded or something. He’s cut up pretty bad, but he’s still standing and trying to get out of going to the ER.”

Nick nodded, completely unaware of the fact that Hank wouldn’t be able to see him. The alien sensations from just moments before made sense now. He’d heard the explosion, felt the cuts and the blood trickling down his face. They’d been his mate’s.

He watched distantly as Monroe climbed into the driver’s seat and waved at him to get in. His friend’s sensitive ears must have picked up the gist of their conversation.

“I’ll be right there.” He hung up before Hank had the chance to answer.

When they reached the precinct, Nick immediately noticed the ambulance at the entrance to the parking garage. Rivulets of water came running across the pavement from inside, where the sprinkler system had probably gone off. In a flash, Nick was out of the car and walking toward the commotion close to the assigned parking spaces where Hank was standing next to an EMT and the tall form of their captain. He hurried over.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Renard was saying. Nick couldn’t see his face at first, but suddenly the captain turned and he got a good view of the damage. Renard had several cuts all over his face, head and neck, his dark suit jacket sliced open and stained by blood and water. Some of the cuts were deep enough to still be bleeding profusely and yet Renard was quite obviously refusing to get into the ambulance for a ride to the hospital.

Hank looked up and caught sight of him, immediately coming over.

“What happened?” His gaze wandered over to the captain’s damaged SUV. The hood was ripped apart, the engine inside still smoking. All windows were shattered from the blast, glass scattered all over the place. There was blood on the front seat. “Wait, I can guess.”

“Your guess is as good as ours right now. The captain’s in shock but refuses to go to the hospital to get checked out. Windshield seems to have exploded right in his face from the looks of him.” Hank sounded worried and kept looking over his shoulder at where the EMT was still talking to Renard.

“Let me talk to him.”

“Uh, sure. Wu’s been trying for a while now.” His partner’s doubtful look told him how successful he thought Nick would be, but he walked over anyway.

“Captain,” he nodded toward the taller man. “Wu, could you give us a minute?”

The officer nodded and left, waving for the EMT to come along, leaving Nick alone with Renard.

“Hey,” he said quietly, taking in the dark suit, shredded in places, drenched with water and blood that was still running down the captain’s unusually pale skin.

“What are you doing here?”

Nick caught the nervous flicker of Renard’s eyes toward the destroyed car. “I felt you. You’re hurt.”

Renard shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding and in shock.” Nick sighed. There was no use in asking the captain what had happened. He was in no state to answer. His eyes strayed to Renard’s hand, balled into a fist and holding onto something tightly. He reached down, careful to block their hands from the officers’ line of sight with his body.

When their skin touched, Renard gave a small sigh and loosened his grip. Puzzled, Nick took a small glass vial from his mate’s hand. “What is this?”

“A message,” was the weary answer.

“I’ll hold onto that for you.”

Nick was worried by the resigned nod, by the exhausted slump of shoulders that were usually straight and imposing, by the voice that usually carried easily across the room and was now barely a whisper. He felt his own heart give a small lurch at the thought of what could have happened. The captain wasn’t seriously injured; the cuts needed some attention but would heal in time, and Renard was not easily shaken. Nick doubted he would be cowed by the attempt that had doubtlessly been made on his life. And yet he couldn’t help but feel sick at the thought of losing his mate.

That mental image made him pause. His fingers itched with the sudden desire to touch Renard’s skin, to take care of the bleeding cuts, to slide along the deep scratches that had broken the skin but hadn’t drawn blood. He wanted reassurance. Among other things. Which he was a little uneasy and not too keen on thinking about right now.

“You should get into that ambulance. You’ve got the guys worried.”

That got the captain’s attention. His gaze, still disconcertingly bloody, wandered over to the officers already examining the car and occasionally shooting glances back in their direction. He was their superior officer; he was in control of them and very good at putting his officers’ needs first. Considering how hurt and in shock the captain was Nick knew that this was probably the only thing he could have said to get through to Renard.

It worked. The captain nodded once more, straightening up some, exhaustion seemingly giving way to determination. Nick followed when Renard went over to where the ambulance was still waiting. After briefly talking to Hank, the captain climbed into the back of the ambulance, patiently waiting until he was strapped into his seat by careful hands.

Nick wandered over just before the EMT closed the doors. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He had to come. Something inside him wouldn’t accept a separation from the injured man at that point and he wondered what that something was. “I’ll bring your briefcase. You’re gonna need a ride home later.” It wasn’t as if the captain needed somebody to hold his hand, and Hank’s puzzled look made him add the quite rational explanation. Renard just nodded as the doors between them closed.

Satisfied that things at the precinct were in Hank’s capable hands, he collected the briefcase one of the officers had saved from the car and returned to where Monroe was waiting patiently with his car.

“Let me guess,” his friend sighed. “Another trip to the hospital?”

Nick just nodded and climbed into the car. Monroe had already turned the car toward the hospital when Nick made to grab for the seat belt and remembered the small vial still clutched in his hand. He looked at it for a moment. It was nothing special, just like the ones he remembered from chemistry class. He had no idea what message it might contain. But he was going to ask.

***

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and support.


	15. If at first you don't succeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhausted, hurting and confused the captain just wants to go home and get some sleep. But Nick can't seem to leave him.

It had grown dark during Renard’s stay at the hospital. He’d been poked and prodded, cleaned and examined, questioned, taped, glued and stitched together.

His body didn’t deal well with lidocaine; it left him feeling woozy and nauseous. By the time the doctor was satisfied with his condition he was even more exhausted than he had been at the end of his long day at the precinct, which he had wanted to escape from when his car exploded in his face. At least they had let him doze off during the treatment of the more serious cuts.

Now he stood in the waiting area, trying to figure out where he had put his phone so he could call a cab. A presence at his side made him look up. He hadn’t noticed the other man stepping up to him, a testament to just how tired he really was.

“You all set?” Nick asked, looking up at him, face neutral.

Renard nodded. He’d nearly forgotten about the detective promising that he’d give him a ride home. 

“Come on then.” A gentle hand on his back led him towards the exit and into the parking lot. The cold night air managed to shock him into temporary wakefulness and his mind cleared somewhat.

The ride to the condo was a short one and once there he directed Nick into the private parking space that was usually occupied by his own car. Which was nothing but a pile of junk now.

“Thank you,” he said once he had gotten out of the car. “I’m sure I can manage from here.”

But instead of driving off, Nick killed the engine and got out as well. “I can’t leave.”

It took a moment for Renard’s brain to process what Nick was doing. Dazedly he watched as the detective grabbed his briefcase and his own jacket from the trunk, locked the car and stepped up next to Renard. “What?”

“I can’t,” Nick repeated through gritted teeth. “Lead on.”

So he did. The shock had worn off enough for him to open the elevator door with his key code and soon both men stepped into the condo, currently illuminated only by the Portland skyline.

With a sigh Renard wandered into his kitchen, shrugging out of his destroyed suit jacket. It was still covered in blood and grime and he didn’t bother hanging it up, instead dropping it on the floor, totally out of place in the meticulously clean and tidy apartment. Occasionally Renard took great pleasure in the temporary destruction of a carefully cultivated facade.

It made Nick frown.

“Would you like a drink?” He gestured toward the decanter and glasses he kept on display in the open kitchen. He would have liked nothing more than to have a drink himself, but after the cocktail of medications he’d been subjected to at the hospital that probably wasn’t a good idea, so he settled for a bottle of water from the fridge.

Nick shook his head, but Renard simply put a bottle of cold water on the counter in front of him. He still had no idea what his mate was doing in his condo. Not that he minded his presence. In fact, his Wesen side reveled in the closeness and in having the Grimm in his territory.

“Thank you for your assistance,” he began, leaning against the counter next to the fridge to watch Nick frown at him from across the kitchen. “I appreciate it.”

For a moment the Grimm didn’t reply, seemingly deep in thought. “Is this the bond?”

He had no idea what Nick was talking about and looked up at him, truly puzzled. “Is what?”

A frustrated sigh escaped Nick and he ran a hand through his hair. “This.” He gestured between them, but it wasn’t enough to make Renard understand.

He blinked tiredly and suddenly the Grimm was right in front of him, so close that he could feel hot breath on his skin.

Renard’s own breath hitched slightly as he stared into eyes of boiling quicksilver, more surprised than startled.

Nick’s voice was rough. “I could have lost you, Sean.”

Before he could fully process the words, there was a mouth pressed to his. Nick kissed him, firm and demanding and gentle at the same time, his hand on the back of Renard’s head guiding him forward.

He’d never dared imagine what it would feel like to kiss his mate. His lip stung from where one of the small cuts had reopened and their angle was a bit awkward with Renard still leaning against the counter, but this simple and most basic contact between them felt so good to him.

Again and again Nick pressed his lips against Sean's hungrily and he could do nothing but accept each and every brief touch. Nick's grip on his head tightened and he felt the slide of a tongue demanding entrance. This was too fast, no matter how good it felt.

Sucking in a breath and letting the Grimm feel his hesitation he pulled back. "Nick..."

The other man groaned in frustration, though Renard couldn't tell whether it was from breaking the kiss or something else

"I don't understand any of this!"

"What?"

Nick was still so close and his breath fanned over Renard's skin, making him want to pull the Grimm's mouth back to his or Woge or both. He restrained himself and did neither.

“This thing between us that won’t go away. Is it the bond?"

At first he had no idea what Nick was talking about. He was tired, confused and closer to his mate than he had ever been before. It was intoxicating. Then it hit him. This wasn't any different for Nick.

"It's not the bond," he finally replied. "It cannot make feelings appear where there are none. But feelings do strengthen it."

"Then why are they there?"

Ah, why indeed. The Zauberbiest in him was growling with pleasure at the thought of his mate wanting him.

"It's you, Nick," he said softly. The urge to pull the other man, still so close, back into another kiss was almost overwhelming now.

"How do I make it go away?"

"You can't." Neither could he. The Grimm's breath on his lips tasted delicious. 

"I don't want it. I never wanted any of this."

Not the kiss, not the emotions, whatever they were. Not the bond between them and not the Grimm inside him. It stung more than Renard would ever have admitted.

He pulled back, straightening up. "I'm sorry." Exhaustion pulled at his mind, wanting to drag him under, promising oblivion, at least for a short while.

Nick looked up at him, his hand hovering in the air between them as if he hadn't wanted to end their contact after all.

Renard decided that he was too tired to care right now. The cuts on his face were starting to itch now that his focus wasn't on that glorious kiss anymore, and he pushed the emotional upheaval away. As soon as Nick lowered his hand he slipped out from the corner the Grimm had maneuvered him into and walked towards his bedroom, not waiting to see what Nick would do.

Renard stood at the foot of his bed for a while, pondering whether it would be worth the effort to take a shower, when he heard the apartment door open and close.

No, he decided, tonight he was too tired to care.

***

That night Monroe came home from an impromptu date with Rosalee to a half-conscious Grimm on his couch. He could smell the beer before even opening the door. And he could smell something else, or rather someone else, on Nick. It was the same someone he'd smelled on the expensive, rumpled dress shirt Nick had brought home a while ago and never bothered putting in the laundry. At first the wolf in him had bristled at the smell of another, unfamiliar man in his territory, but after a while he hadn't minded anymore. He knew it was Nick's captain. 

Now there was a faint hint of blood and disinfectant in the air, but also something else that he couldn't quite place at first.

"Nick?" he called, quietly alerting the tired and tipsy Grimm to his presence. Tired gray eyes looked up at him.

"Monroe. When’d you get home? What time is it?" His voice was rough with sleep and alcohol. 

"Just after ten. I just got in," he answered, wondering how Nick had been able to block out the chiming of his many clocks, and planted himself on the other end of the couch. Something was the matter with his friend and tired or no, tipsy or no, he would not let Nick brood over it.

"You've been at the captain's," he stated. He already knew that.

Nick nodded.

"He alright?"

Another nod.

"You alright?"

This time Nick shook his head. "Not really.” Well, this was like pulling teeth. 

"This has got something to do with your visit?"

Nick looked up at him sharply. Yes, the Blutbad could play detective too. There were feelings involved. He had a fine nose for that sort of thing. That smell on Nick was recognizable when one knew what one was dealing with. The scent of warm bodies told a story, a hint of saliva mixed with not-quite-but-almost arousal. 

"You kissed him."

"I didn't mean to!" The sudden outbreak into the silence of the dark room made Monroe flinch.

"Dude, calm down. I didn't say that!" He firmly believed that Nick maybe hadn't meant to but that he had very much wanted to.

"And you enjoyed it?”

"Yeah, of course I did or I would have stopped before making an ass of myself."

"Do you mind that he's a man?" Had to ask. 

"No," he paused, then gave a sideways glance at Monroe. "Wait, do you mind?"

That almost made Monroe laugh out loud. He held back though and simply threw his friend a reassuring grin. "Why would I? I'd just have to disappoint you if you'd set your eyes on me. But as you seem to have picked your captain as your object of desire..."

The answering grin that had started to bloom on Nick's face died instantly. So that was what this was all about. He said so.

"He's my captain!" Nick nearly shouted, dragging a hand through his hair. "My commanding officer and ten years my senior!"

"What, that makes him any less, well, desirable?”

Nick snorted indignantly. "That's not the point!"

"But part of the problem," he interrupted dryly.

"Yes! Yes it is. Happy now?!" Nick's voice rose with a hint of aggressive frustration. "I can't stop..." He broke off, leaving Monroe to wonder just what it was Nick couldn't stop. He'd seen his friend quietly pine for Juliette after their break-up, and he knew that Nick hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her for a long time, even though his love for her had run out, and hers for him. Of course he could also see where Renard being Nick's superior could cause problems, but it wasn't like they would have to make their relationship public. And most Wesen didn't much care about such things as hierarchies of the human world.

"I don't even know why I'm worried. He just pulled away and left me standing in that neat as hell kitchen!" Completely out of place and feeling like an intruder, Monroe surmised. "I felt like I couldn't leave, but he said it's not the bond. So I guess this stupid infatuation or whatever this is is entirely one-sided."

Another revelation. Nick wasn't only confused by his own emotions but also by Renard's reaction. Though at this point he didn’t dare ask if the always so collected captain had kissed back.

He watched silently as his roommate reached for the beer on the table and fumbled when he couldn't grasp it on the first try. 

"Alright, you've had enough," Monroe decided, got up and snatched the bottle away. "You're drunk and confused and not thinking of the obvious. The man was hurt and medicated and tired and he probably had no idea what you were doing." His own words made him wonder when exactly he had become the Grimm's voice of reason. "Maybe you should talk first, try again slowly and then see how it goes."

Nick sighed and tiredly placed his head in his hands. "I won't try again."

He didn't have to ask why. "At least give the man his shirt back."

That comment got a small laugh out of the Grimm. “I’m sure it’s not the only one he owns. How do you even know about that?"

"Rosalee told me." She had, but only after he'd wondered to her where the damn thing came from in the first place. "And I don't mean you should take it to the station."

Nick snorted. "Wouldn't that give the guys something to talk about."

"I think you better bring that shirt downstairs now so I can clean and iron it and then grab a shower and go to bed right away. You've got work tomorrow and an explosion at a police station to investigate."

That remark seemed to sober Nick up instantly. "Right. Thanks, Monroe, and also for taking care of the shirt."

Monroe waved him off. He'd be glad to get that smell out of his territory.

***

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for sticking with me. Writing hasn't been coming easy these last few weeks, I'm afraid. But I'm trying!


	16. Some sort of Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> Thanks so much for all your comments, I'm completely flashed that they're still coming, despite me basically abandoning my fic (SORRYYYY!!!) Unfortunately I fell into not one but two other fandoms, so I'm not exactly sure if I'll be continuing this fic, but there is one more chapter which I'd like to post. So here it is!

Renard should have had the next couple of days off, at least that was what everybody had expected after his being injured in the explosion. So Nick was surprised to run into him on his way to get coffee at a place nearby.

He watched the captain get out of a cab, noticed the still unusually pale skin tone and the angry red scratches in stark contrast. His hand twitched at the sight, but he passed the tall man with nothing more than a nod. He couldn't even meet his eyes.

He included the captain's usual in the guys' coffee order though.

The expensive white dress shirt, expertly washed and pressed by Monroe, was currently hanging in a clothes bag in his car. He had no idea when to give it to Renard without anybody noticing.  
The captain was tied up in meetings all day, first with his superiors, then with the mayor and then with the two senior detectives who were appointed the task of investigating the explosion. He spent most of the afternoon in his office answering their questions, with unsatisfying results, judging from the detectives' faces when they finally left.

The captain looked somewhat weary and Nick watched him stare at his desktop for several moments before he finally went back to work. It wasn't like him to let his professional facade drop like this.

Late that afternoon he and Hank were called out for a case. When they finally got back to the precinct it was dark and the captain had already left for the night.

It was just past eight, so Nick decided to give the shirt back anyway. He hoped the captain would see him after their less than amicable parting as he had some questions for Renard that his colleagues wouldn't have known to ask. Before driving to the condo, he made a little detour toward the spice shop. 

The door to the thoroughly stylish condo opened without delay. Renard had changed out of his suit and into a comfortable looking pair of sweat pants and an old sweater. It was only the second time Nick got to see the tall man in something other than one of his impeccable suits, and his eyes involuntarily wandered up and down the imposing figure.

Renard eyed him in return, expression guarded but facade firmly in place.

"Nick, what can I do for you?"

"I‘m just returning your shirt," Nick shrugged and lifted the clothes bag hanging across his arm.

"I'd nearly forgotten about that," Renard replied with a polite smile. 

"And I went by the spice shop to get something for your cuts."

Renard stepped aside, gesturing for Nick to come inside.

“Rosalee said it’s probably not as potent as something you could have brewed up but it should help with the healing. It’s gonna sting for a few moments though.”

He followed the captain back into the kitchen where Nick made sure to stay across from Renard on the opposite side of the breakfast bar.

“I’m sure it’s the best she has. Thank you and please give my thanks to Rosalee.”

For a moment neither of them said anything, both looking anywhere but at each other. 

Nick would have left but he needed answers to what had happened in the parking garage. Out of the corner of his eye Nick watched as the captain reached up with one hand to feel one of the cuts but aborted the movement at the last second.

"They bother you a lot?" he asked, finally daring to look up.

"It's the lidocaine," Renard explained. "It makes me drowsy and nauseous, yet they still insist on using it on me every time. Makes the stitches itch."

"I'm sure Rosalee's salve will help."

Renard nodded, his fingers still twitching.

“Do your abilities work for you too? Can you heal yourself?"

“No. That would make me next to immortal."

"What happened yesterday?"

Renard looked up at him, face blank. "I already gave my statement at the station, detective."

"But I bet you didn't tell Ross and Mayer about this," Nick answered, pulling out the small vial and presenting it to the captain on the flat of his palm.

The reaction that gesture got him was extreme. The Zauberbiest woged instantly, baring his teeth. "I may have forgotten to mention it to them."

"You said this was a warning."

"It wasn't in my car when I left it that morning."

That was an evasion if he'd ever heard one. "Who sent it?"

Renard turned away, shaking his head in agitation. This was so unlike the captain and it made Nick deeply uneasy. At least the Zauberbiest had retreated again for the moment.

"I don't know."

"You knew yesterday." He was proud of himself for being able to keep his voice level.

"It doesn't concern you."

That sentence enraged Nick and his next words weren't as even. "It doesn't concern me? Really, Sean? Somebody tried to kill my mate!"

That made Renard turn toward him fully, imposingly, and Nick could feel the Zauberbiest's presence, his power. He wasn't afraid.

"You don't care about any of this!" the injured man shouted back. His hand, finally winning the fight with common sense, rose and scratched at one of the sets of tapes holding together a deep cut.

"Would I be here if I didn't?"

This was the Grimm and the Zauberbiest clashing, two alpha males wanting to fight, wanting to win. But there was something else too, not the need to hurt or to kill but to touch and soothe, which Nick found an utterly irrational sensation in this situation. Renard scratching at his wounds made him itch and he finally gave in to the need to get closer to him. He shot around the island and reached for Sean's wrist to pull it away from his face and close to his own. 

"I was here yesterday too, I came to the precinct and I went to the hospital because I care!"

“You don't want to care. You don't even know why you care at all!"

He'd never believed that his captain could employ such an accusing tone and he didn't think he deserved that. "I know why I care and while I may not have wanted it, there's apparently nothing I can do to change it, as you told me yesterday."

"So why do you care? Is the Zauberbiest hybrid amusing to the Grimm? Am I a curious toy?"

"You didn’t listen to a word I said yesterday, but I guess that was the drugs," Nick replied, his tone more lenient than before. "This isn't about me being a Grimm or you being a Zauberbiest or a hybrid. This is an officer feeling things for his captain that he probably shouldn't."

The Grimm rose up on his toes, the distance between them melting away into nothing, and he couldn't hold back any longer. As their lips met again Nick desperately hoped he'd done it right this time. He wanted nothing more than to feel his mate kiss back.

Sean groaned against him, mouth pressing against his, and he wanted to howl in triumph at the sensation of smooth lips and hot breath. A second of panic tore through him when his mate almost violently wrenched his hand out of the grip Nick still had on it, but he calmed instantly when that hand settled on the back of his neck.

After that there was no holding back. His arms wrapped around Renard's back to pull the taller man closer, to get more contact. There was no hesitation this time, just so much glorious closeness, and when Nick's tongue carefully slid across his mate's lips he was granted entrance instantly. He delved in without hesitation. 

Sean was with him all the way, tasting Nick just as hungrily and the Grimm moaned at the firm touch on his neck. He could feel his own racing heartbeat beneath the strong fingers that maybe unconsciously sought out the scar from his recent injury.

Then suddenly that delicious mouth was gone from his, the hand on his neck retreating so fast he nearly lost his balance. As he looked up in dismayed surprise Renard turned away, the hand that had just a heartbeat ago covered Nick’s neck now pressed to his own face. At first he thought he’d accidentally re-opened one of the cuts, but the telltale shudder going through his mate’s body explained everything. He’d woged and turned away just in time for Nick to miss it.

“What-“

“Sorry, I-“

They started speaking at the same moment, though Nick had the impression neither of them knew exactly what to say. And he had no idea what had actually just happened.

“This happens sometimes.”

“Because we were…”

“Yeah.”

Why had he turned away then? Nick didn’t dare ask. Instead he decided to take a few steps back, literally and figuratively. “So, about the vial?”

Renard sighed and turned back, reaching for the fridge handle. “Beer?”

A few minutes later Nick had seated himself on the expensive and surprisingly comfortable black leather couch, watching his captain nurse a cold one in an armchair across from him. The vial sat on the marble monstrosity of a coffee table between them.

“My family knows what I am,” he began, taking a sip from his bottle. “My mother tried her best to hide it, but the royal families are experts when it comes to the Wesen world and at some point it became obvious I wasn’t like other Wesen.

“It was the last straw after they found out my mother was a Hexenbiest. My father's wife already wasn't pleased by her husband's mistress having a son that was undeniably of royal blood. To find out that that son was also a hybrid – let's say she was not amused in the slightest. She started a witch hunt that had my mother and me flee the country."

“She was threatening you?” Nick interrupted, not sure what to think of Renard’s story yet.

“She did more than that. She sent Wesen after us and later even a Grimm. That’s when my mother decided to travel to Switzerland with a stolen passport to pull me out of class and into a flight ultimately ending here in Portland. Of course the family knew where we were, but for a while Portland was far enough away for us not to be a danger to their business.”

“And now you are,” he stated, starting to see where this was going.

“It seems my half-brother must have had an issue with one of our recent lines of investigation. It was his message that left such a nice impression on my face.”

“If he meant to kill you he did a poor job of it.”

“Oh, if he had wanted to kill me he would have. No, this was just a message.” He reached forward and snatched up the glass vial. “You see, when we were younger our father got it into his head to introduce his sons to each other. He took me into his house and Eric and I had the dubious pleasure of sharing tutoring lessons. It didn’t go too well as you can imagine, considering I was a thorn in the side of my father’s wife. One day, we were about ten I think, Eric came up to me, a vial just like this in his hand. He made it clear in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t welcome. His mother had taught him well already, the history of our family’s rule, the control over Wesen, the worth of blood bonds and the worth of a hybrid in the family. To them I was worth more in one of these,” he lifted the vial to Nick’s eyes, “than alive.”

“Why didn’t they kill you then?” Nick asked, slightly horrified at how a child could say something like this to another.

“I strongly suspect it was thanks to my father’s influence. While he wasn’t willing to stand up for my mother, he must have had some use for me, not that I could ever see what that was. In the end, he managed to order off the assassins his wife had hired, and Eric has abided by his wishes and not made an attempt on my life.”

"Is your father a high-ranking royal then?"

Renard gave him a bitter smile, reaching forward to nearly throw the vial back onto the table. “King of the Royal House of Kronenburg.”

Nick just stared. “You’re…”

Renard nodded. “The exiled bastard prince.”

“And your bother…”

“Next in line to the throne and currently in charge of the family. And apparently we’re investigating one of his businesses.”

“The hybrid children!”

The captain nodded. “That’s why he sent the vial.”

“He wants us to back off.”

“Yeah.”

That was a lot to take in for one evening. Nick didn’t even know where to start. His captain wasn’t only Wesen and a rare hybrid but a bastard prince exiled by his own family for whom he was nothing more than an unwanted complication or something to stuff in vials for profit. What a horrifying thought. And now Sean’s own brother was apparently involved in the killing of pregnant women and human trafficking here in Portland. It looked like Eric Renard was not even going to stop at murder. The thought sent chills down his spine and his mate gave him a strange look.

“We need to find out how he is involved and what they’re up to.” Off the radar, he added silently.

The captain nodded. “I have some connections. It will take a while though.”

“I’ll see if Rosalee’s connections can give us another lead. There must be somebody that knows who to ask when in need of human ingredients.”

Continuing along this course of investigation would be dangerous; he had no illusions about that. What Renard called a warning could easily have killed or at least seriously harmed him. Yet he didn’t even entertain the thought of dropping the whole case. He could deal with the danger and he knew his mate was usually more than capable of taking care of himself. He was even better equipped to deal with danger now. Nick hoped. There was still so much to talk about, but it was getting late and he was getting tired. And he knew Renard was exhausted, though he was doing a good job hiding it.

“It’s late. I should leave,” he finally sighed, getting up from the couch. Renard made to get up as well, but one gesture from Nick made him sit back down. “Stay put. I can show myself out.”

He was already halfway around the coffee table when the small vial caught his eye again. “Guess we won’t find any fingerprints on this?”

Renard shook his head. “Unlikely.”

Nick plucked it off the sturdy marble surface. For a moment he fumbled with the glass until it slipped and fell back down, shattering to pieces on the table. “Oh no, I’m sorry,” he drawled, staring at the mess. The Grimm was anything but.

Slightly startled by the sudden crash, Renard looked up at him, pushing himself up from the armchair. Nick stopped him again, one hand on his chest. He leaned down quickly, unable to resist, and pressed a gentle kiss to Sean’s lips, before retreating toward the door.

“Good night.” He didn’t look back, but he could feel his mate’s eyes on him.

***


End file.
